


With This Ring, Or Fate Intervenes

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: F/M, Norribeth, sparrabeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 58,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marooned on a desert isle with a certain wobble-legged pirate, Elizabeth finds herself fighting for survival, and falling in love not with the legend of Jack Sparrow, but the man. Rescue is bittersweet, and in a devil’s bargain she trades herself to Norrington for Jack’s freedom. Will she become the Commodore’s wife, or will Fate intervene? Set during COTBP-ish... Sparrabeth with a little twisted Norribeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revelations In A Mango Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I’m playing a little with the timeline here, setting this earlier than what I think the movies are intended. Rather than Jack being a contemporary of Black Beard, he shares the Caribbean with the likes of Henry Morgan. (Yes, that Cap’n Morgan, the dude on the Rum bottle). You can skip the history lesson if you like, but I’m including this bit of info as a premise for my story. I very much recommend the book Empire of Blue Water.
> 
> Interestingly enough, circa 1660-70, the English didn’t really have much of a navy, and Jamaica depended on pirates, privateers or otherwise, for defence against their long time enemy, the Spanish, as well as the ever-wavering French and Dutch. A pirate captain could walk down the street of Port Royal and lock gazes on equal standing with a nobleman or planter. They were accepted member of society, even if the deal made the more “law-abiding” citizens a hair nervous.  
> Before the earthquake that destroyed most of the town into the sea in 1692, Port Royal boasted one of the richest economies of the world. Not due to sugar, that would come later. Due to the plunder the buccaneers brought into port and spent with wild abandon. Mostly, Spanish prizes. In time Jamaica would turn on the Brethren, preferring to hang them rather than do business with them. Henry Morgan himself would become the assistant governor of the island, and send many of his brothers to the gallows.

 

Elizabeth Swann had not thought of Captain Jack Sparrow in years, and yet as the carriage rattled down the bumpy cobbled streets of Port Royal, she could not shake her childhood memories of the man, or speculation after the tales she’d heard of him thereafter. What had set her off? A glimpse, perhaps, of a dark head in the crowd, or a profile that seemed so very familiar?

Well, truth be told, Elizabeth spent much of her time daydreaming. She day dreamed, because she wasn’t bloody allowed to do anything else that was interesting in the least. Perhaps it was only a matter of time that her over-active imagination wandered to Captain Sparrow, the once dashing privateer turned fugitive from the Crown.

My, how handsome he’d once been. She’d been twelve, the last time she saw Jack Sparrow. A wild girl-child on the cusp of embarking upon the treacherous trail to becoming a woman, and she’d only just begun to notice the opposite sex with an appraising eye.

She’d found Captain Sparrow very handsome indeed.

Sometimes he’d come to her father’s home, the Governor’s mansion, to discuss business. Sometimes in the company of that blackguard Henry Morgan, or Hector Barbossa, but sometimes alone. Now, she could only imagine the plots that had gone on in Weatherby Swann’s study. The commissions made to cut logwood on the coast of Honduras, and should Captain Sparrow encounter any Spanish vessels that offered hostility in the meantime, what could be the harm in engaging the enemy and bringing home a little gold to spread around?

Things were different then. When she was a girl pirates were tolerated, nay, even celebrated with a wink and a nod, in the streets of Port Royal. Weatherby Swann had made his cut of the plunder. Now, pirates were hanged, and their corpses left hanging in the harbor as fair warning for any of the Brethren who thought to come too close.

One particular occasion Captain Sparrow visited their home protruded in her memory. She and Will had been playing pirates, running wild as Arrowak Indians across the house, chasing each other two and fro with sticks. Will had not yet begun to learn to use a sword, or to teach her the skill in kind. They had settled for clacking their sticks and squealing obscenities (or at least, rough-sounding words they could get away with in front of the servants, and imagined as fearsome).

Jack, left waiting a very long time for Weatherby to receive him, had watched with great amusement, his dark eyes glittering for the children’s games. She’d trembled with excitement when the famous Captain deigned to instruct her as to how to actually hold a sword, kneeling down beside her, his sun-browned hand, fingers bedecked in rings, clasped over hers on the stick.

She remembered his sleek black hair pulled neatly into a queue with a ribbon, leaving his sharp clean-shaven cheekbones and well defined jaw unobstructed from a curious eye. He’d smelled fresh, but exotic, spicy. He’d been dressed very well, a snow-white neck cloth pinned with an emerald brooch, a blue tailored coat and silk vest and clean breeches, boots polished to a reflective sheen.

Jack’s benevolent lesson soon resulted in the reward of Elizabeth breaking a fine china vase in pursuit of Will, the screeching of the maid, and the children sent outside to play in the garden. The Captain vacated the scene with a chuckle and a wink, and was soon after received by Governor Swann, if for anything to preserve the lifespan of his remaining fragile valuables.

Later, Will dared Elizabeth that she could not climb to the highest fruit of the mango tree that presided over the courtyard.

Elizabeth never could resist a dare.

She’d climbed to the lofty mango and plucked the heavy fruit, throwing it down at Will triumphantly. The blacksmith’s apprentice dodged the missile with agility, and in that moment while looking down Elizabeth was struck with the most horrifying case of vertigo.

Climbing up had been one thing, but she suddenly couldn’t fathom how she would make it back down.

Captain Sparrow and Governor Swann emerged from the house to investigate the clamor in the courtyard, to find the chambermaids, the cook, the footman, and little Will all calling up to Elizabeth that she must come down. Embarrassed and in tears, Elizabeth had clung to her branch and refused to budge an inch.

She refused for long enough, and worked her poor periwigged father into such a state, that the Captain himself took it upon himself to climb the tree after Elizabeth. She’d been too embarrassed to look at him, when he took a seat on a branch nearby to her. She could still remember the timbre of his smoky voice, a voice that could bark orders aboard a ship as easily as offer comfort to a scared little girl. _Quite a view up here, luv,_ he’d said. _Not quite a crow’s nest, but as good as you’ll get on land._

 _I can’t look,_ she’d insisted.

_That’s fine, lass. You don’t have to. But you’re missing quite a show. And if I do say so myself, more than half the fun in life is taking in the show._

In that moment she’d lifted her eyes to regard him, daring to look that far at least. His black gaze weighed upon her, and where she expected to find scorn or annoyance, there was only a gentle encouragement. She wanted to look around, in that moment, if for anything just to please him. But her body was frozen to the spot, and she could not move.

_Do you think you could grab around my neck, so that I can get us down from this tree? It’s blasted hot to be monkeying around in mango trees this time of day._

_I can’t move,_ she’d insisted.

_Ah. Are you sure?_

_Yes._ She’d been resolutely, embarrassingly, undoubtingly, sure.

_You might be wrong, you know. You might be surprised what you can do._

She’d blubbered a little then, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. _Will said I couldn’t climb this high because I’m just a girl, and he was right. I can’t do it._

Jack frowned, throwing an unkind look down at the boy in the courtyard, who watched them with fearfully wide dark eyes.

_You know, luv, people will tell you plenty of things about your life, and how you should live it. Especially because you are a girl. ‘Fraid that’s your lot, state of things as they are. But the only rules that really matter are these: what a man--or woman--can do and what they can't do. That part is entirely up to you._

It was advice that Elizabeth would carry with her into womanhood, to her father’s chagrin. She would never forget that afternoon spent in a tree with the famous privateer captain, a man who would not dismiss her just because she was a female, as so many throughout her life would.

Elizabeth lifted her chin, separating herself a bit from the trunk of the tree. She’d wanted to make Captain Sparrow proud of her so very badly just then. So badly that she dared risk a glance down at the ground, the ground that was so far away it seemed to sway.

And then she’d looked out, over the house, over the town, the tops of the swaying palms, and to the sea. The sea had sparkled that day as a glittering blanket encrusted with topaz, sapphires, and diamonds, a sight that to this day never failed to take her breath away. In that moment, she’d known Captain Sparrow was right. It was a show that would have been a shame to miss. It encouraged her to trust him in other matters as well.

 _Will you climb down beside me?_ She’d asked in a voice so small it was a wonder Captain Sparrow even heard her.

_That I will, luv._

And slowly, side by side, she and Jack had made their way down the mango tree. She traversed the worst of the journey by herself, her limbs trembling so badly. It wasn’t until perhaps fifteen feet above the ground that her grip gave way, and she nearly took a fall. But Captain Sparrow caught her with a strong arm around her waist, and she marveled at how easily he held her little body aloft. _Maybe hang on to me for the rest of the way down?_ He’d suggested, and she nodded, obediently placing arms around his neck with a death grip that surely must have half choked him.

Jack swung down from a branch with one hand, dropping down to terra firma with her in his arms, and they shared the briefest moment of eye contact, the privateer’s well-formed lips breaking into a brilliant smile. _Well done, luv. Y’ve got mettle, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise._ She’d smiled shyly, before being swept away by the tearful nursemaid and passed around the other servants who loved her as their own daughter, even eventually to Weatherby’s own relieved embrace.

Captain Sparrow had left the Governor’s mansion with a grateful pat on the back, and surely more to his liking, letters of marque that sanctioned whatever trouble he could stir up for England’s enemies in the great blue beyond of the Caribbean.

Then, Elizabeth had received a tongue lashing to end all tongue lashings. She’d been sent to her room with an ego--and a bottom--so sore she couldn’t imagine ever looking her father in the eye again. She’d been forbidden from seeing _that boy_ anymore. Will, her beloved friend, the boy who had been her constant companion since coming to the island a few years before. Elizabeth had been told that it was time to start acting like a lady. She would be thirteen soon, and she was long past due to stop playing with sticks in the garden and pretending to explore faraway lands.

Young, impetuous, Elizabeth’s answer to this decree had been to change into a boy’s costume leant to her by Will for previous adventures, and slip out the house with a pillowcase full of her most treasured things. Her diary. A book about pirates. A string of pearls that had belonged to her mother. A little snack she’d squirrelled away at supper.

She’d headed straight to the docks, intent to find a ship to runaway upon.

Fancy her luck, that she ran into Captain Jack Sparrow once more.

Perhaps she’d sought his beautiful ship on purpose, the famed Black Pearl whose graceful profile anyone in Port Royal could recognize in the harbor. Even with just a silhouette in the moonlight, the sight of her had taken Elizabeth’s breath away. The promise of adventure inherent in her lines and curves. Oh, the places they could go…

Her reverie had been interrupted by a hand clapped upon her shoulder, startling her greatly. _Beautiful sight, eh dearie?_

She’d swallowed hard, knowing she was made immediately, despite her short pants and shirt.

Captain Sparrow had listened with a sympathetic ear to Elizabeth’s tale of the tongue lashing, smiling a little wistfully. And then he’d promptly escorted her home, even giving her a hand up to help her scale the trellis back up to her balcony, without waking the house. He’d parted her company with a rogue smile and a salute, as she watched from her perch on high. Jack disappeared from her vision into the shadows of the garden as though he were a creature made of darkness, as though he’d never been real at all.

She thought back on that turn of events with equal relief and regret. Sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder, _what if_?

This was one of those moments. Being jostled in the carriage was far from her favorite activity, and doing so in a corset in this hellish heat was doubly tiresome. The added ingredient of attending an official function, James Norrington’s promotion ceremony from Captain to Commodore, did not help matters either.

What could life be like, had she sought her fortune upon the sea, rather than remained the pampered pet that was the Governor’s daughter?

James had been acting rather odd around her lately, and it filled her with a sense of foreboding. She did not think his impending promotion to be the culprit. Before she’d found him a rather gallant figure, equal parts gentleman and adventurer. She’d even let him kiss her once at a garden party at Lady Sheldon’s. Yet the last time she shared his company, at dinner Friday last, James had acted almost _shy,_ refusing to meet her eyes, stumbling over his words.

The only thing she’d been able to make out had been _a fine woman._ Whatever that truly meant.

No, this did not bode well at all.


	2. Something Made Of Finer Materials

**_Port Royal: 1678_ **

****

****

Much to Jack Sparrow’s delight, the docks of Port Royal were nearly deserted, as he strutted two and fro, shopping for a ship like a cook perusing the wares at a fruit stall. Only two blockheads in red coats--wool, in this heat!--followed him about, and he played them easily, only engaging them with half a wit.

He strode aboard a beautiful schooner, all painted blue and bedecked with gold trim. _The Endeavor_ was painted upon her hull. Oh, _indeed,_ thought Jack.

He remembered a time when there had been no Royal Navy in these backwaters.

Once upon a time, pirates, his own Brethren, had been Jamaica’s only line of defence.

It had been quite some time since he’d visited this particular port. Once upon a time, he’d been greeted as a hero on these streets, after returning from a raid on the Spanish with pockets full of gold and chests filled with booty. Now, no one even recognized him.

Perhaps it was better that way.

It would certainly make it easier to steal a ship, at any rate.

His last farewell with Port Royal had not been on the best of terms. It had resulted in a nasty brand, a near hanging, and those betrayers Henry Morgan and Hector Barbossa laughing all the while at the Governor’s side. Barbossa even got his ship out of the deal, the cursed devil.

He wished Morgan’s ship was here to steal, but he’d heard that old marauder had taken to land-lubbering and drinking heavily with a severe case of the dropsy. So, this Navy vessel would just have to do. It would do _very_ nicely.

Suddenly Jack heard a large _splash_ off to port. There was a great commotion in the fort above, shouting and screams, and a crowd of soldiers and onlookers craning their necks over the edge of the outcrop above.

Jack could guess what that meant.

Some fool had fallen off the battlement.

None his affair, mate. He had his own problems.

Yet he found himself walking to the forecastle, craning his neck in the direction of the splash. The two morons followed dumbly, eyes wide for the commotion above. _No one could survive that_ one of them said.

Jack knew different. He’d done it himself, once.

The shouts were growing more frantic up above.

Jack searched the crystal clear waters, and swore he saw something pale and flowing, like the body of a jelly fish, sinking towards the bottom fast.

Jack shed his effects, anything that would weigh him down, pressing them into the arms of the first red-coated buffoon. Before the soldier could protest Jack bounded down the bowsprit and leapt into the water.

When he found her on the bottom the lass wasn’t moving, her mass of golden hair catching rays of sun from above, glittering like treasure against the sand. He gave her some of his breath, hoping he’d saved enough for himself to make it to the surface. With an arm around her waist he began to swim.

She wouldn’t budge.

Layers and layers of silk and crinoline weighed her down. Extremely annoyed at the English for insisting upon such impractical fashions in the tropical heat, Jack drew his knife, slicing a few key lacings that allowed him to pull her from the cumbersome outer shell. With a much lighter load in arm, he swam like hell for the surface.

He hauled her up on the dock. She simply lay there like a wet doll, unmoving, unbreathing. She was _beautiful_. Most women in this state would look like a wet rat, but she appeared to be something made of finer materials, a mythical creature of the waves, a mermaid or goddess of the sea. He was already short of air, and the sight of her stole his breath all over again.

Jack noted the corset cinched tight about her already willowy waist, surely suffocating her. What the bloody hell did a woman like her need _that_ for? He quickly sliced open the lacings of that too, and chanted a mantra in his head. _Please breathe, please breathe, please breath, please breathe…_

Suddenly she gasped, eyes wide and wild but not able to focus on anything.

And then she rolled on her side, promptly throwing up about a gallon of seawater.

The lass lay back, her vision slowly returning. Everything had been black. So very black. She drew air into her burning sore lungs. Air. Sweet sweet _air_. It never felt so good to breathe. Her long fingers convulsed upon the strong arm at her side, unwilling to let go of her rescuer. Was she dead? Had she been dead?

“Are ye alright, luv?”

As Elizabeth’s senses returned to her that voice drifted in. That smoky, enticing voice. She _knew_ that voice. Shakily she sat up upon an elbow, peering closer at her rescuer.

“Captain Sparrow?”

A plethora of emotions punctuated that question, all of which took Jack aback. Disbelief, perhaps he expected. But there was also a hint of awe, of happy surprise, and _that_ he did not expect to receive in Port Royal, or anywhere else for that matter.

“Have we met?”

Usually this question, when posed at a member of the fairer sex, would be answered with a slap.

This sodden maiden, soaked to the bone, her hair tangled and wet and plastered to her body, only laughed. It was shaky, but still a sound filled with joy, and she reached up to touch the side of his face with her hand. A very soft, gentile hand. Jack found himself leaning into her touch, just a tad.

“It really _is_ you.” She looked upon him with wonder, taking in all the changes of his appearance. He looked exotic and dangerous but still so very handsome. She took in the kohl darkened eyes and wild ropey mane of hair filled with trinkets from foreign lands. The red bandana, the scruffy beard, and a few scars that had not been there before.

Oh, but _those eyes_. She could never forget those shining black eyes, like polished onyx, if onyx could ever embody such capacity for mischief and merriment. “I’m Elizabeth Swann,” she explained breathily. “You saved me from a mango tree, many years ago.”

It took quite a lot to surprise Jack Sparrow these days, but the memory of that slip of a girl paired now with this breathtaking specimen of a woman--well, ol’ Jack’s jaw veritably dropped to the dock. “You’ve grown up…” he managed to say. A highly intelligent and observant statement, he chided himself.

She laughed again, finding the strength to sit up. “Perhaps a little.” Her hand moved to the column of his neck, resting there against his pulse, which he surmised must be yammering like a troop of upset howler monkeys beneath her fingers. They were ridiculously close, and it was entirely improper, but Elizabeth seemed to pay it no heed. Her mind was still a little foggy, and it seemed perfectly natural to sit so close to the man who had saved her from a watery grave. She continued to study Jack with a curious eye, the light returned to those caramel colored orbs.

“You look so different.”

“Ten years s’long time, luv.”

She also noticed that Jack’s manner of speaking had changed, even if slightly. Though he’d never spoken the King’s like a blue-blood from London, it had always been quite apparent by his diction that Jack Sparrow was an educated man. Now he sounded a bit more like the salts who populated the docks, and something else even more exotic than that.

Where had he really gone, after escaping the gallows of Port Royal, she wondered?

Her hand travelled down his shoulder, his arm, to the cuff of his sleeve. Jack’s body thrummed taut as a bow string, her inquisitive touch setting him on edge. A mercy and a bedevilment, all in one. He found he couldn’t have moved if his life depended on it.

And, it _rather_ did.

The shouts from the fort were growing louder, soldiers nearing the docks. But Elizabeth’s touch rendered him incapable of motion. Had anyone _ever_ touched him with such reverence in their eyes? And she called him _Captain_ Sparrow, and not with a hint of mockery, but as though she very much meant it. It felt wickedly _good_ , even if Jack surmised he just might be a dead man walking.

Slowly she pushed up his wet sleeve to reveal the branded P upon his forearm. Vividly, she remembered the day it had happened. She’d watched the public scene in the square, sitting beside her father, with sickness in her stomach, knowing in her heart that it was very _very_ wrong. That Captain Jack Sparrow was a good man, and didn’t deserve the lot that was dealt him. She’d hated everyone who jeered in the square that day. But she’d just been a slip of a girl, and there had been nothing she could do.

She covered the brand with her soft hand, as though she could erase it with her touch. His forearm was firm and corded with muscle, and suddenly despite her ordeal she felt very warm inside.

“Oh dear, you shouldn’t be here,” she sighed, her words suddenly laden with worry. “They’ll hang you for sure this time. We have to get you--”

The sound of booted feet rushing up drowned out her words. Before Jack knew it he’d been ripped to his feet by rough hands, and shackled soon after. The girl protested, argued with the newly appointed Commodore, and on rather familiar terms, if Jack wasn’t mistaken. She stamped her foot and gesticulated, even going so far as to stab a finger into Norrington’s uniformed breast. “He saved my life and you will release him _at once_ ,” Elizabeth insisted, those eyes flashing with anger.

Norrington’s men watched with wide eyes, curious if their commander would put this impetuous woman in her place.

“We will do no such thing. He’s a pirate and he will be hanged,” Norrington informed her, and there was a tension in the air between them, a crackling energy one could have cut through with a saber. Jack filed this away for future use. Elizabeth had something James wanted.

 _Well_. He reckoned she had something every man on the island wanted.

And suddenly the tables turned in Jack’s favor. Elizabeth came too close, and Buffoon #1 wasn’t paying attention, and Jack had the Governor’s daughter in his grasp once more. And now she was hissing threats at _him_ , and it sounded as though she very well meant them.

“ _Play along, luv_ ,” he whispered in her hair, and he felt her relax just a tad against him. He instructed her to administer his effects, and she put on a good show of it, only the hint of a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, oh for just a _second._ But Jack had noticed, and he knew, with his talent for reading people, that young Miss Elizabeth, bless her adventurous heart, was now along for the ride.

In fact, she administered with a little _much_ gusto, and he grunted as she shoved his pistol in his sash a bit hard. “Easy on the goods, luv.”

Again, that flash of a smile, there and gone like ripples in a pool.

“That’s Miss Swann to you,” she replied with cold disdain, and oh what an actress she was!

At least, he _hoped_ she was acting.

And then they were off!

Jack grabbed the girl and cut a rope attached to a suspended load of bricks, propelling them in a mad acrobatic flight to the higher landing in a feat that sent the guards scrabbling for cover from the baked earthen projectiles, running in the usual circles, not even sure where to locate their own arses, much less the pirate Jack Sparrow. She ran beside him like a gazelle, those long legs unimpeded by the fetters of layers upon layers of skirts. Not since the day, the _last_ day she’d been allowed to run wild with Will in the garden, had Elizabeth felt so _free._

She laughed, a sound filled with pure delight, and Jack grinned beside her, his gold teeth glinting in the morning sun. _Blazes_ , was she a beautiful sight, he thought.

This was _trouble_.


	3. Like The Moon Pulls The Tide

 

Elizabeth knew the back alleys of Port Royal rather well for a high-born girl who lived in the Governor’s mansion. She led him, and the soldiers, on a merry chase. They watched from behind a statue as the troop of redcoats went sprinting past, none the wiser. Once they were gone she cut down another alley, and pulled Jack into a dimly lit shop.

A blacksmith’s shop.

 _Ah, good girl_ , thought Jack, perusing the tools on offer, all very neatly organized upon the wall and work bench. “ _Will_?” Elizabeth whispered, and was answered by a snorting snore.

Mr. Brown was still sleeping off his evening libation.

“Who’s Will?” asked Jack.

“My friend.”

“The boy ye were chasing with a stick all those years ago?”

Elizabeth giggled a little. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“Surprised he survived you.”

Elizabeth jumped as Jack suddenly bellowed at the sleeping blacksmith, clutching her heart.

Mr. Brown did not stir.

They set about freeing Jack of his manacles.

Jack tried to weaken the chains by placing the middle link in the forge, but it was simply too hot. He couldn’t stand it.

Next they placed the chains on the anvil, and Elizabeth tried to break them with a hammer.

To no avail.

“I fear Mr. Brown is actually quite good at working iron when he’s sober,” said Elizabeth. “He surely made these.”

She went to peruse Will’s finer tools, the ones used for engraving and chasing silver upon the hilts of swords. Perhaps Brown was more than sufficient at rough iron work, but Will was a true craftsman when it came to the finer tasks of metallurgy. He loved to make fine weapons, and she hoped someday he would be recognized for his talents.

“Ye seem t’know yer way about the blacksmith’s shop very well,” pried Jack, watching as she picked through tools as though she’d been there before.

She pressed her lips, moistening them nervously with a flick of pink tongue. Jack found his abdomen tightening just for the sight of it. “I may have visited a few times,” she finally admitted.

Quite often, more like. When Mr. Brown passed out, at ten in the evening like clockwork, she would come to see Will. Sometimes they would sit and talk. He would show her his work. And, her favorite, he would show her how to use the swords he created with such loving care.

“Really? And I thought I heard your father forbid you from seeing him anymore, that day we pulled ye from the mango tree.” Elizabeth felt defensive at first, before she realized Jack was smiling, mischief in his eyes, and not really judging her at all.

“Well…” She selected a tool at last, and took Jack’s wrist in her hand, beginning to work at the lock. It was the long route, but perhaps the best one. “I imagine he wouldn’t have appreciated my trying to run away that night on your ship, either. Or even, that you so benevolently returned me to my bed without a word to anyone in the house. So, there are some things a father simply shouldn’t know.”

Jack watched as she picked the lock, rather skillfully. How very _interesting._

In no time the tumbler clicked, and she was on to the other manacle. “It was for the best, luv, that I brought ye back that night,” Jack found himself insisting. “What did ye think would have really happened?”

A small smile curled her lips. “I thought I could be your cabin boy, and learn to sail.”

“Cabin _girl_ ye mean. And you were a pretty young thing even then. Lass, you’re lucky I was the one who found ye. A number of scoundrels I knew in those days would ‘av spirited ye off, and ye never would have been heard from again.”

Elizabeth’s lower lip protruded in a pout, more fitting for the girl she’d been, than the young woman she’d become. “I thought you would protect me.”

“Keep an eye on ye and the whole rest of the crew, 24 hours a day? A tall task, even for Captain Jack Sparrow, luv.”

“I suppose I was a _bit_ in awe of you,” she teased, looking up at him from beneath long lashes. Again Jack felt his gut tighten. And where did she learn to look at a man like _that_ , cooped up in the Governor’s mansion? He supposed some women were simply born knowing. Ye Gods. He swallowed, hard, and hoped she didn’t notice in their close proximity.

Her lion’s mane of golden hair had begun to dry, and a tendril drifted across the short space between them, tickling his face. She smelled of saltwater and sweat, but also undeniably sweet. The delectable way a healthy young woman smells, no matter what mischief she’s been up to.

Jack said nothing, afraid to ask, _aren’t ye still_?

As though she could hear his thoughts, she went on, “But I suppose I still am, Captain Sparrow. I’ve followed the gossip of your exploits since you escaped the noose that day. Did you really sack Nassau without firing a single shot?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he answered, which really wasn’t an answer at all.

Finally the second manacle clicked free, and Jack rubbed his wrist. One was only a little raw. Nothing, compared to the sores that could appear after days--weeks--months of wearing the iron bracelet. He knew first hand.

“You’re awfully adept at picking locks for a Governor’s daughter.”

She gave a little curtsy with a sly curl of lips, and it was then that Jack remembered she was only wearing her undergarments, a pretty and light chemise that was still quite damp and really left very little to the imagination.

The truth was that Elizabeth enjoyed picking locks. She enjoyed the triumph in defeating their inner workings. She’d practiced on every door in the Governor’s mansion, and there was not a single portal in that house she could not gain access to, given enough time.

“Will’s taught me a few things,” she admitted.

Jack raised an eyebrow, unable to stop himself from leering just a _little_. “Has he?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes for the insinuation. Yes, she knew Will fancied her, even if she considered him more of a brother, despite how handsome the lad had grown. But first and foremost, he was her friend. Her dearest, oldest companion, no matter how her father tried to put a stop to it.

“He’s also taught me to handle a sword.”

Jack’s insides lurched with that one, and by the glitter in her eye, he realized it had not been an entirely innocent revelation.

How very _interesting._

“So you see, if I were to run away _now_ , I wouldn’t be so helpless as I was before.”

In a very rare and uncharacteristic moment, Jack found himself struck positively dumb. Was she saying…? Suddenly he felt a bit light headed, as though he’d drunk too much rum too fast.

“Where _is_ your ship, Captain Sparrow? What were you doing down on the docks?”

“Funny you should ask. I was shopping for one, till ye performed your little fainting act over the side of the battlement.”

Elizabeth huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve never fainted once in my life, I’ll have you know. I’m just not accustomed to wearing a bloody corset. I’m certain a man must have designed them, and a misogynist one at that.”

Jack grinned, and Elizabeth’s heart skittered in her chest for the sight.

“It’s one way t’keep you wily women in your places, that’s for sure.”

Eyes narrowed, she made to swat Jack for his gibe, playfully, or perhaps _not so much_ , and gasped when he caught her hand, hauling her against him. Those strong arms wrapped about her thin waist, arms that had pulled her from the water. Arms that had saved her life. She found she didn’t mind so much that they were about her once more, holding her close.

He reveled in the way she squirmed against him, the way her chest heaved against his, her breasts pressing against him. Maybe Jack Sparrow had a weakness for beautiful women, and they him, truth be told. But _this_ lass, this brave little chit--he’d never met a woman like her before. It not only stirred his desire, but a place that had remained surprisingly quiet, supposedly empty and unbidden for many years, deep in his chest.

Not good.

Yet, he couldn’t make himself stop. She pulled at him, pulled like the moon pulls the tide.

A long silence passed, before she dared speak, her voice low and husky with excitement. “Are _you_ going to put me in myplace, Captain Sparrow?” she asked, her hands convulsing against the fabric of his coat. It didn’t even occur to her that her hands were indeed quite free, and she could have struggled, if she’d cared to.

A lady would have struggled.

Despite her pedigree, Elizabeth had never been sure she really _was_ a lady.

“And just what do you think your place is, Miss Swann?” he asked with a sly smile that positively sent a thrill coursing through her body.

She lifted her chin, such a well formed, regal chin, and answered, “You probably don’t want to know.”

Oh, she was a proud one, this Elizabeth Swann. Proud, and wild, and something in the back of Jack’s head whispered _girls like her love rogues like you._

“Let me guess. On a throne, with all the men groveling at your feet?” he teased.

“It would be a start,” she answered, a flash of white teeth showing from behind her lips. There was not even a _hint_ of humility in her tone. She fingered a bead in one of his ropes of hair, curiously studying the carvings. “I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve gotten you into. James will surely try to hang you twice, if he can, for being a pirate, and for…rescuing me. He can be a jealous man.”

“ _James_ , eh? Ye seem on right familiar terms with Captain Norrington.”

Jack had had his own run in before with the Navy captain. And though Jack had to give him credit, the man had a foolhardy habit of running headlong after quarry into storms.

“It’s Commodore Norrington, now. He just asked me to marry him today, before I fell from the wall.” Her interest moved to a different silver trinket in Jack’s hair, and for a moment he closed his eyes, taking a simple moment to enjoy this woman’s touch.

“Ah. So did ye faint, or jump?” teased Jack, and a sudden sadness overcame Elizabeth’s expression. _Not_ what Jack had intended.

“I’m not really sure,” she answered honestly. She remembered standing so close to the edge. She remembered thinking, _wondering,_ what it would be like to fall that far. How exhilarating it would be, until one hit the rocks. No, she didn’t think she’d really done it on purpose, but she had been _curious._

And overwhelmed.

And unable to breathe.

It was as though she could see her whole life set before her if she were to accept James’ proposal. One day after the next, each one the same as the day before. Tea, society balls, ceremonies, smiling and saying pleasant things to boring people she didn’t really like. It had pressed an unbearable weight upon her shoulders and chest.

Perhaps she had fainted after all.

As soon as the darkness had fallen upon her expression, Elizabeth shook it off, the light returning to her café con leche eyes. “I think I owe you something for your trouble, Captain Sparrow.”

Jack’s eyebrow quirked high. He made a show of peering down the bodice of her dress, and in that moment she wasn’t sure what she wanted more, to slap him or kiss him. “Lest ye’ve got a ship hidden somewhere in there, luv, I don’t think there’s much you can do for me.”

She paid him a rather knowing look, and again he wondered _where on Earth had she learned that?_

“I thought you might like a kiss,” she said cheekily.

A rather pained groan escaped the pirate captain at that moment.

“Aye, I might.”

“Jack!” she teased. “A good man would have the decency to at least _pretend_ otherwise.”

Oh, and now it was _Jack,_ was it? He found he loved the sound of his name on her lips. He wanted to hear it again, in every way.

“Luv, clearly, I’m not a good man. Ask anyone.”

Elizabeth huffed. “If I want the truth, I don’t ask anyone. I listen to my own mind. You saved my life. _Again_. You’re a good man.”

She touched the side of his face, tracing his high cheekbone with the blade of her thumb. She wished she could say something coquettish, like in her books. Something like _I’ve never kissed a man before._ It would have been a lie. She’d kissed James before, and even Will, one night when their fencing lessons went just a _hair_ too far. But neither James nor Will had filled her with such a burgeoning elation inside. One look from Jack was like a shot of pure joy, straight to the chest.

Had she damaged her brain when she’d hit the water? Was she really thinking about kissing a notorious pirate?

She was. She certainly was.

Elizabeth began to pull Jack closer, with nothing more than the light touch of her fingers at the back of his neck.

And then the door jostled, a key turning in the lock.

Suddenly, Will Turner stood in the door, surprise--and then quickly indignation--written upon his fine features. “Will!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Shut the door!”

Jack vaguely recognized this Will, this handsome Adonis of a man, from the boy who had played with Elizabeth Swann at the Governor’s mansion. The boy had looked upon him with a sort of awe then. Now, the man, regarded him with a decidedly different emotion.

Jack knew that dark look. He’d seen it on the face of many a man in his day, beaus, fiancés, and husbands the world over.

Jealousy, dark as pitch.

 _Bugger_ , he thought, a hand flying to the grip of his cutlass.


	4. An Old Soul

# Chapter 4: An Old Soul

Another day, another adventure, thought Jack, taking a sip of rum. Another round with that scurvy mutinous maggot-bellied Barbossa, a cursed skeleton crew, and Aztec gold. Not to mention the Royal Navy cruising around somewhere in an undoubtedly unamused state of mind, and the whelp, that foolish eunuchy blacksmith, undoubtedly soon to get his throat cut by the aforementioned maggot-bellied mutineer.

Jack paid a sliding glance to his right.

Elizabeth sat quietly, loosely gripping her own bottle in hand, looking out towards the sea.

Well, at least the scenery had improved dramatically since the last time he was here.

Jack had endeavored to keep her mind off all the aforementioned little unpleasantries in their current plot line, not to mention their predicament of being marooned upon a desert island. He’d done a good job of it too up to a point, loosening her up with a bit of rum, inciting songs and raucous dancing around the fire.

She was a smart lass, too smart, perhaps. Now she’d gone quiet, and he wondered if she’d begun to truly grasp the possible horror of their plight. Dying of dehydration on a desert isle was not the way Captain Jack Sparrow ever intended to go. He didn’t relish using the bullet on the girl in an act of mercy either. He would _much_ rather put it in Barbossa’s chest, but he didn’t know if he would get the chance now.

It surprised Jack when he felt the weight of the lass’s pensive quiet uneasily upon his shoulders.

“Piece o’ eight for your thoughts, luv.”

The girl raised an eyebrow, so curiously dark compared to the lightness of her tawny locks. It was as though two natures lived within her. A bit o’ angel and a bit o’ devil. From what he’d seen of her thus far, it was a fitting description.

She paid him a sliding glance, the corner of her shapely lips quirking up. “You probably don’t want to know, Captain Sparrow.”

Though he loved hearing that particular personal moniker, he decided he preferred it when she called him Jack.

He took another drink, his curiosity instantly aroused.

“Aye, and why is that?”

Elizabeth sighed, and leaned back in the sand. She’d never imbibed in spirits before, and found the rum left her feeling warm, liquid, and a little brazen. The energy she’d felt before when they danced by the fire had waned, and yet she wasn’t quite ready to sleep. She wanted…something else. What exactly, she wasn’t sure yet.

She looked to the pirate at her side, the fearsome, handsome, and yes--very odd--Captain Sparrow.

The rumors of his exploits all managed to leave out _that_ particular detail of the pirate captain. It was something that could only be conveyed in personal acquaintance, she supposed. And despite his oddity, his wild tangents, his run-on manner of speaking, and his animated gesticulations…he made her feel like no one else ever had, and she couldn’t quite place her finger upon it. Elizabeth was a woman of a lightning quick wit, and it bothered her when something escaped her cognitive grasp. It was a question she decided she would like to further explore, even if--well, what did it matter now anyway?

“I would hate to offend you, Captain, as we are sharing such close quarters tonight.”

Jack laughed a little, taking the opportunity--the invitation--to siddle just a bit closer. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t help but think about how seemingly willing she’d been to kiss a pirate in the blacksmith’s shop.

If the whelp didn’t get his throat cut, Jack still owed him for the rude interruption.

He mirrored her stance, sprawling out in the sand, propping his head upon his hand. “Offend _me_? A notorious and seasoned buccaneer? Now y’eve really got me curiosity up.”

She gave that wan half smile, and he found himself watching her mouth with more interest than he should. “Well, that’s just the thing, Captain Sparrow.”

“Aye?”

“Here I am, a lady of station spending the night on a desert isle with a man society considers a fiend, even if _I_ know he’s a much better man than he’s given credit for. Even if you do not even raise a finger in my direction, I am absolutely, irrevocably, ruined.”

The pirate pressed his lips in a hard line, those dark eyes glinting dangerously in the firelight. For all his prattling and waving his fingers and odd way of speaking, it was moments like this that reminded Elizabeth exactly who she was keeping company with.

She mistook his dark expression for anger at her, but it was not Elizabeth Swann who angered Jack. It was the fetters of the society that confined them both. The society that kept her in a gilded cage, and that never really gave him a chance at an honest life in the first place.

Her heart skipped a beat as Jack lifted a finger towards her, and she flinched a little. And yet when he caressed the side of her face with a touch that was feather light she sighed, leaning into his touch, though not necessarily of her own volition. She was drawn to this man. She knew she shouldn’t be, and yet she just couldn’t seem to help herself.

“Usually I have to do a _bit_ more than lift a finger to relieve a lady of her virtue,” he said, chucking her lightly under her chin. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath, until suddenly it released in the form of a rather embarrassing sigh.

Jack was surprised again as he found he sympathized a little for the girl, and what it could mean for her to be _ruined_. He thought of his own Mum, and the difficulty of being a woman living without the protection of a man, scorned by society. He didn’t think she could ever quite be reduced to living as a tart for this little folly, but maybe spinsterhood spent with the world whispering behind your back wasn’t so appealing either.

“Despoiled many virtuous ladies, have you?” she asked with that half smile that somehow tugged at his heartstrings.

“Maybe a few. You’ll be fine, luv. You might…have to submit to a doctor’s examination to prove your--er-- _innocence_ …but after that no one will dare call you a liar. Or worse.”

Elizabeth made an awful screwed up face, thinking of her father’s physician, Doctor Reed, who was a pudgy, self-important tub of dough who smelled like old cheese left out on a hot day. The thought of subjecting herself to the humiliation of such an examination of her most private parts left a decidedly bitter taste in her mouth. “I think I would prefer the ruin,” she quipped, and took a hearty swig of rum.

Jack raised his dark brows for such a revelation, and immediately his mind set upon the implications of such a statement, as a pack of starving hounds upon a fat hare. Immediately the devil inside began whispering in his ear _all_ the things that _could_ mean and _all_ the things he _could_ do with this beautiful girl on this deserted island, far away from civilization, society, the law, her father, Commodore James Norrington…

Shaking himself mentally, he scolded that voice inside, attempting to revoke it from his thoughts. _She’s just a girl,_ he insisted, at himself. _She’s just had her first drink of real spirits, and she doesn’t really know what she’s saying._

As though she were unaware of the battle she’d sparked within the pirate, she went on, “It’s actually a little exciting, really. It makes me wonder, after all the dust settles, will I be _free_? Free to _not_ marry--for no one my father approves of will possibly have me now. I have always thought, why _should_ I have to marry? I am an intelligent human being. I am capable of orchestrating endeavors outside of having bloody tea in the drawing room with the other insipid society wives. I already handle father’s accounts when he is away. Why can’t a woman be free to make her own way in the world? The yoke of marriage is the only viable option a woman has, and it isn’t fair. Indeed, marriage can go to the devil, I say.”

Jack smiled widely, and in the firelight it seemed more a baring of teeth. His dark eyes positively gleamed in the firelight, glittering with some dark promise she didn’t entirely understand. It caught her breath in her throat, made her chest feel suddenly tight. She found in that moment she absolutely could not tear her eyes from him.

“But what if you meet a bloke you would actually _want_ to marry, Miss Elizabeth? What if someday you meet your _match_?”

He heard the sly words leave his mouth before he could bite down on them. Sometimes he felt as though he watched himself and the things he did from afar, as though it was not really him but something inside him, pulling all the strings. As though he was possessed by a demon that made him run two and fro to see whatever chaos he’d started to the end.

“My match?” She gave a sly smile, regarding him from beneath her lowered lids. For some reason she felt rather powerful, when Jack looked at her that way. “Well, it’s certainly not James Norrington. And the thought, even if just on paper, that he would be considered my master absolutely rankles me.”

Jack chuckled for the thought that _anyone_ could consider himself her master, much less James Norrington. And yet he suspected she’d never beheld the fiercer side of the good Commodore. A man did not rise so high in the Royal Navy if he didn’t have at least a small streak of sadist in him.

“And what of the young blacksmith? Dear William? He fancies you somethin’ awful.”

Awful enough to nearly put a sword in Jack’s belly.

Elizabeth softened in that moment, toying with a shell in the sand. “Will is a dear friend. I know he fancies me, but I fear I would eat him alive. No, I am no match for Will Turner either.”

Jack found himself scooting a hair closer, and though Elizabeth noticed, she didn’t seem to mind. “What you’re sayin’ luv, is that you need someone a bit more…wicked?”

She smiled up at him, a closed mouth smile curling those perfect lips. “Perhaps,” she acknowledged quietly.

“Someone who can read life between the lines. And someone with a hint o’ rogue in ‘em. I’m beginning to think you’re the sort who likes that.”

Smiling wider, Elizabeth found herself lying back in the sand, looking up at Jack. It felt very natural to do so. To lie close to this man, to feel as though he were leaning over her, without lording over her. “I might.”

Jack didn’t know what possessed him, when he reached out a ringed finger to caress her hair, brushing a strand away from her face, and arranging it upon her shoulder. His fingers brushed her collarbone, causing her to shudder.

“And, someone fierce, who can protect you. A man who will get you out of your scrapes when you need it, but who will also still regard ye as an equal afterwards.”

Jack’s clever fingers continued to toy with her hair, and Elizabeth’s eyes slipped closed, enjoying the sinfully sweet contact. James had certainly never touched her like this, and Will had never dared. Jack lit her on fire with just a look; his hands upon her made her feel utterly wild inside. Something indescribable bubbled within her and she didn’t know what it was or where it could go.

“Captain Sparrow, it sounds as though you are describing yourself.”

“Does it?” He affected mock surprise, pressing long bejeweled fingers to his chest.

She felt bold just then. Her limbs were tingly and warm, and she didn’t know if it was the rum or the intoxication of having a handsome man so near. Of having _this_ handsome man so near. She had experience with neither. Elizabeth reached up to trace Jack’s features, his high cheekbones and long straight nose. Beneath the dirt and scruff and baubles, she realized he was handsome to the point of almost being beautiful. It didn’t seem fair at all for a pirate to possess such looks.

“You forgot physical appearance,” she teased, fascinated by his features, able to study this rare creature so near. “Naturally I would desire someone as devilishly beautiful on the outside as within. Classical features paired with a fearsome vanity,” she said, tracing his brow, looking into his kohl lined eyes. “And eyes so dark it seems they could swallow me up with just a look.”

Jack’s throat suddenly went dry. Where did she learn to speak to a man like that? In a way that would twist up his insides, and make him do foolish _foolish_ things? He remembered the dock, and how the lightest touch of her hand had rendered him unable to flee a whole squadron of redcoats marching his way. What would he do now that there was _no one_ to say otherwise? He caught her fine boned hand before it could trail further down the column of his neck, planting a gentle kiss upon her fingers.

“Luv…”

“Perhaps _you_ should make an offer for me, Jack,” she teased with a cheeky little smile, a flash of teeth behind full lips. “It would be the _honorable_ thing to do.”

Again, that devil whispered in his ear, and try as he might he could not silence it.

He sighed quietly against her hand; she never would have known if she hadn’t felt the warm air of his breath on her skin. Immediately she assumed that she took their game too far. She couldn’t know the war Jack fought with himself inside. The war he was quickly losing.

She doubted herself, until Jack turned his eyes back up to here, a dark light entering his gaze, something she didn’t entirely understand. She realized that she wanted to. Oh how she wanted to.

“Lizzy…you are playing with fire, lass.” He said it quietly, but it was a sincere warning all the same. She understood, and she recognized the devil in herself too. This was going to be one of her moments when she pushed too far, just to see what would happen. Like climbing a tree too high as a girl, or sneaking out of the house in her boy’s costume in the dead of the night and heading for the docks, thinking to find her destiny aboard a ship. She knew she would cross that line, just as surely as she knew she couldn’t stop herself.

“I just thought that if I am to be ruined, I might as well enjoy it a _little_ ,” she answered in a similar tone, looking up to Jack with honeyed eyes that sparked in the firelight.

“If you are to be hanged for the crime, you might as well commit it?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, his abdomen clenching and stirring with the thought. _She doesn’t know what she’s saying_ he told himself again. _She has no idea what she can do to a man. No inkling of her power._

And the devil in his mind answered back, _No, but you could show her._

“Something like that.” Elizabeth moistened her lips, and Jack found his attention focused upon her mouth most intently. He was leaning towards her without even realizing, and Elizabeth watched his approach, too fascinated to even entertain a protest.

Jack caught himself, steadying his advance with an arm in the sand by her shoulder. He hovered over her now, any pretense of polite distance between them evaporated into the night.

“So you think you would like to be… _betrothed_ to a pirate, luv?”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to focus upon Jack’s mouth, lips so full and artfully molded by the divine clay. Did the creator find it ironic to spend such extra time on a man who would be such a rogue, she wondered? And _what_ would it be like to kiss him?

“Ah, so you _are_ going to offer for me?” she asked, hardly recognizing herself for the cheek in her reply. Who _was_ this girl? This brazen, fool-hardy woman, tempting a pirate on an island where no one could hear her scream? It felt _so_ _good_. She felt _free_. Was this how Jack lived, all the time? Doing as he pleased, without the constraints of society’s expectations?

What Jack _wanted_ to do was fall upon her, kiss her silly and show her exactly what young miss was really asking for. But perhaps he was not so free as he claimed. He exorcised great restraint, retreating from Elizabeth once more.

“It would round the trio of your suitors nicely, wouldn’t it? A commodore, a blacksmith, and a pirate?”

She rolled back onto her side, propping her head upon her hand, mirroring Jack. Any distance he’d managed to put between them was obliterated by the girl, and vaguely he wondered who was hunting who.

“Not just any pirate. The great _Captain_ Jack Sparrow.”

She played on his vanity, and he couldn’t help but offer up a gold-glinting grin. It just sounded _so_ good, and his name on her lips did things to his insides that were decidedly…inconvenient.

He toyed with a tendril of her hair, watching the burnished gold shine in the firelight. Obsessed with treasure indeed. “As it were, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow is a shrewd man. He would think it awfully inattentive t’offer for a lady without having kissed her first.”

He waited for the slap.

Seconds passed, but it did not come.

There was only a smile, this one broader than all the others she’d paid him that evening.

“You want to kiss me, Jack?”

Of course he bloody wanted to kiss her.

Their interlude in the blacksmith’s shop was burned in his brain, playing in an incessant loop that gave him no peace with her near. The only problem was, he feared if he started, he couldn’t possibly stop.

Elizabeth misinterpreted his moment of pensive hesitation, dropping her gaze back to the sand. “You must think me very silly. I’m sure you’ve had dozens of women far more experienced than I. Kissing me must not be terribly appealing to you.”

Immediately Jack hooked his finger beneath her chin, turning her gaze back up to him “I’ve known a few women in my day, luv, but I’ve _never_ been this close to a woman as fine as you.”

He watched as the compliment settled over her, and something filled her eyes again, her chin held just so once more. Ah, she was a proud young thing, Miss Swann. Yet though he was accustomed to saying pretty things to women to win their favor, this once he absolutely meant them.

Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered closed as Jack’s ringed fingers slid into her hair at the base of her neck, drawing her closer. She waited, waited for him to crash over her like a wave. Surely that was how a pirate would kiss? Giving no quarter? Showing no mercy? The idea frightened and titillated, and with bated breath she waited. And so when Jack’s lips touched hers ever so lightly, just barely brushing over her mouth, an embarrassing whimper escaped her.

Her eyes flew open, and she regarded Jack from only the distance that was the span of her nose. The eye contact was jarringly intimate, and it was Jack who closed his eyes once more, kissing her again. This kiss was deeper, wetter, utterly melting. Of her own volition she opened beneath him, and Jack swept inside, caressing her with his tongue. He nibbled her lips and explored her mouth, leaving no corner untasted. His kisses ignited something wild inside her, made her feel as though something un-tamable burned within her belly, her every hair standing on end.

When Jack leaned over her again, his body pressing hers down into the sand, the only thought she could muster was _yes._ He claimed her mouth with his own, branded her with lips, forged her anew with the touch of his tongue. She simply knew she would never be the same again.

His mouth moved down to kiss the line of her jaw, and the dip of her throat, the blunt of his teeth grazing the hollow at the base of her neck. “Lizzy…” he whispered against her skin like a prayer. “Beautiful, bonnie little Lizzy…”

He continued to kiss her silly as Jack’s hand roamed her curves, moving up to cup her breast. The vaguest inkling that she might protest was quashed by the unexpected thrill that shot through her body, through her heart and straight to her loins. Jack swallowed her cry with his mouth on hers, crashing over her like a wave.

Yet when his hand strayed down, beginning to slide beneath skirts that had already begun to ride up her thighs, she gasped, managing to grasp at some semblance of a sane thought. So many new sensations overcame her, so wonderful and confusing, swirling inside her with all the power of a hurricane. He robbed her of her wits, reduced her to a quivering pile of pure sensation. The weight of his sinewy body pressed down into her, trapped her, claimed her, consumed her. It was all so wonderful and yet so alien. She could hardly stand it, she didn’t know what to do with all _this._ She could hardly even _breathe_. “Jack!” she pleaded, and it was two parts pleasure, one part fear.

The fear was what caused the pirate to halt in his tracks, sitting up on his elbows to look down at her questioningly. He’d never seen anything so beautiful as Elizabeth below him, her mane of golden hair spread out in the sand, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. Ah, but those eyes were just _a little_ too wide.

 _Virgin, you bloody imbecile,_ he reminded himself.

Her breathing was labored, and not only because of his body weight settled atop her. No, she found she _quite_ liked that.

Again he waited for the slap, but it did not come.

After a long moment she regained herself, slowly sliding her palms up his sides, across the flat of his chest, and down again. She watched with fascination as his eyes slipped closed, suddenly feeling rather powerful for the reaction she inspired in him. She explored the shape of his body, intrigued by how _different_ he was from herself, all the rigid lines and hard muscle. When her inquisitive hands slipped beneath his own shirt, her nails tracing the ridge of his abdomen it was Jack’s turn to groan, resting his forehead against hers. “Luv, if you touch me like that, I can’t…”

She didn’t stop, suddenly no longer so afraid, smiling a little to herself, until she found the ridge of a rather nasty scar upon his ribcage. Her fingers fixated upon the old wound, tracing it as a blind woman would read brail. She wondered what awful thing had happened to him. She knew even if he told her she could hardly fathom it, sheltered life that she’d lived.

He sighed, knowing there was only one way she was going to _stay_ a virgin tonight, and it involved distance between he and she. He rolled off of her, laying back in the sand. The sudden absence of him left her feeling so cold and alone, her heart clenched in protest. “Jack?”

Jack groaned, pressing his palms against his eyes, as though he could clear the image of her from his brain. “That _was not_ your first kiss,” he found himself blurting, though it was absolutely not what he intended to say.

“No,” she admitted, sitting up on her elbow once more. She paid the pirate an appraising stare, equating what she’d felt with what she saw now. Her eyes were drawn to the bulge in his breeches, curious and a little afraid. She knew what _that_ was, she’d felt it so firm against her hip, and she vaguely knew what it meant. Knew that it meant he wanted her, the way the animals… _oh my_. “Though it was my favourite to date,” she said cheekily.

“Well…” For a rare moment, words seemed to escape him. “Well.”

Feeling brave again, she scooted to lie against Jack’s side, resting her head upon his shoulder. Jack gave a pained sigh, because she was _not_ making it easy to remain honorable. The impulse was fleeting enough in him, as it were. “Haven’t ye had enough ruin for one night?”

Even as he attempted to sound gruff, Jack’s arm looped about her shoulders, pulling her closer. She looked up at him with her chin upon his chest, that knowing little smile in place. He shook his head, examining her from beneath his lids. “In the East, luv, they would call ye an old soul.”

“An old soul? What does that mean?”

“It means ye seem…wise beyond your years.” _It means ye look at me like you might like to eat me up, and I forgot ye don’t know how,_ he thought.

“Where did you hear that?”

“India. They believe a person is reborn again and again, until they can learn to play nice an’ stop makin’ all the same human mistakes and finally reach nirvana. They call the cycle reincarnation.”

He expected her to scoff, like any good girl raised in the Church of England, secure in her singular view of the world would. Instead she pleasantly surprised him when she canted her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. “That sounds a lot better than fire and brimstone,” she admitted. “Do you believe in this? _Reincarnation_?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

“Were you in India long?”

“Few years.” He’d hid out on the subcontinent, waiting for the business with Henry Morgan and Barbossa to blow over. The chaos of the place was easy to lose oneself in, and he’d loved the vibrant, ancient culture, the sights and smells and tastes of the land. The caste system was a little rough, but the pure teachings of Hinduism and Buddhism, the really heavy stuff, he found very interesting.

“Is that where you learned to paint your eyes with kohl?” she asked with that infuriating little smile.

“Cuts down on the glare, luv,” he sighed, wondering if she would question him like a child endlessly, and wondering if his cock would ever settle down with her lithe young body pressed up against him. “If I tell ye a story will ye go to sleep?” It was that, or the other way he knew, and _that_ was a bad idea. As his sanity slowly returned to him, he knew it more and more.

“A story from India?” she asked hopefully.

“If ye like.”

Three stories later, one true, one half true, and one entirely fabricated about a princess and a bandit, Elizabeth finally drifted off into slumber, her long legs twined with his. Before Jack himself followed, he stole one last glance down at the angel whose head rested in the dip of his shoulder.

The scenery had _decidedly_ improved since last time.


	5. Sleeping Beauty, Sleeping Dragon?

 

Jack awoke first, wincing for the blazing sun beating down upon them.

Oy, his head hurt somethin’ awful.

During the night they had shifted to their sides, Lizzy’s round little rump snuggled against him, his arm draped across her waist. She still appeared quite angelic, but he wondered if upon waking she would screech and slap him and accuse him of such things as plying her with spirits and committing heinous seduction.

Well…it had only been a very _minor_ seduction. Just a _tiny_ one, really.

He wasn’t sure her father, or James Norrington, would appreciate the subtlety.

At any rate, if his head hurt, hers would be thumping like a troop of drummers at carnivale. It meant the sleeping princess could actually be a sleeping dragon. Best to find something to placate her with...

How to placate a princess on a desert isle that was alarmingly lacking in resources?

He looked about, and when his vision cleared it settled upon the palm trees that lined the beach. They clacked in the breeze, and the revelation came with a tell-tale _thump_ in the sand.

_Ah-ha._

Carefully he extricated himself from the sleeping beauty and went to his pile of effects, fishing out his cutlass. He wished he’d made a point of keeping it sharper--he really was an awful swordsman and was always banging it on something he shouldn’t be…like now, throwing it up into the coconut tree, hoping the sharp side would find its way to just the right spot.

After several tries he was very glad the lass was not awake to witness, a viable fruit fell to the sand before him. He quickly hacked off the end, and was pleased to find the fruit contained a nice amount of water inside. He began to tiptoe towards the sleeping poppet again and paused. The sun was merciless, and no matter how long the lass had been on Jamaica, he knew it would eat her fair complexion alive here. He hacked off a frond from a saw-tooth fan palm, and took his offering to his companion.

_Please please pretty poppet please be a princess and not a dragon…._

He stood a moment regarding her, shading her with the palm frond, coconut in hand. Yes, she was very agreeable to look at. Angelic etcetera etcetera and all the like. But also, in this moment, she looked quite _vulnerable_. And in this moment he felt something quite different and new and _very_ alarming well in his breast.

He felt _responsible_ for her.

The last time he’d been here he remembered not really caring if he lived or died. He’d just watched Barbossa sail off with the love of his life, the Black Pearl. It had been the second time he’d been bamboozled by that particular pirate, the first being Barbossa and Morgan blaming the whole sacking of Panama event on _him_ when the crown got a little cranky in the precisely three seconds in history that England called a truce with that whiny little spit of a country Spain…

Now, everything was different. Now, he wanted to live, and he wanted the girl to live, and that meant he couldn’t sit his arse in the sand and drink rum until he blacked out. It meant they needed water, food, and shelter…and all three of those things were in extremely short supply on this annoyingly miniscule mite of an island.

Bleedin’ bloody hell.

Elizabeth woke to find Jack looming over her, a pensive expression upon his face that looked almost _painful._ She turned to see him better, craning her neck, and immediately she winced, putting a hand to her head. “Oh, my head.”

“Was ‘fraid o that. Here, luv.”

She took the proffered coconut, peering inside. The water sloshing about the shell looked heavenly. “Thank you.” She took a long draught.

Jack sat down beside her, holding the palm frond aloft. She looked up with amusement, and scooted closer. _That answers that question,_ thought Jack, his fears of a righteous and angry swan assuaged.

“So what do we do now, Jack?”

She looked to him with alarming expectation, and he felt his heart sink like a stone. He’d faced storms, mythological creatures, bleedin’ angry deities for Chrissake, and lately even a skeleton crew, a _literal_ skeleton crew, and none of it scared him the way this chit of a girl looking to him like he was a hero did.

“’Fraid we’re goin’ t’have to reinvent the wheel, luv. It’s just us and our wits here, and not much else.”

She looked around, at the glittering azure waters, the white sands of the beach lined with swaying palms, and finally, the pirate at her side. “Someone very wise once told me that more than half the fun in life is taking in the show. I can think of far worse places to be stranded,” she said, nudging Jack with her elbow.

There was a weight in his dark eyes that had not been there last night, and though she could very easily guess the reason for it, she hoped they could rise above their fear. She knew that she was in over her head and she really had no true bearing yet on what they were facing--but her instinct told her that fear could eat them alive if they let it.

Jack smiled a little, looking out towards the sea. It was not the usual baring of teeth, the devil-may-care grin. It was a dampened version of the Jack Sparrow usually put on for the world at large--it was decidedly more _real._ Elizabeth realized she didn’t actually know him well enough to read this new development.

And so she nudged him again. “And far worse company too.”

This time he did look at her, that strange little smile still in place. He watched as she craned her neck towards him, looking up at him through her long lashes. And his heart skipped a beat, when he realized she petitioned for _a kiss_.

He hadn’t expected the magic from the night previous to carry over into the bright of day, after the rum wore off and the hangover set in. It was not a common occurrence for the pirate, but then again perhaps that had something do with him usually being out of shiny by the time the morning came around.

Jack’s heart pounded like it hadn’t in the company of a member of the opposite sex since he was a pimply young lad in short pants. A kiss drowned in rum and firelight was one thing. A kiss in the bright of day the morning after? It was a different type of magic, and perhaps a more dangerous kind.

A kiss in daylight smacked of a _promise._

Even so, even when every little devil he possessed inside hissed and wailed that this was a very bad idea, Jack leaned down to claim a gentle kiss that curled his toes in the sand.

They sat in the shade of the single palm frond together, shared the coconut, and began to make a plan.


	6. An Equal Share

_When I grow up_  
I want to live near the sea   
Crab claws and bottles of rum   
That's what I'll have   
Staring at a seashell   
Waiting for it to embrace me

_-Fever Ray_

 

* * *

 

 

In the interest of conserving fuel the fire that night was decidedly smaller, and a beautiful red snapper roasted slowly above the coals. Jack had built the structure for a shelter, and meanwhile Elizabeth gathered firewood, coconuts, and cut palm fronds for thatch. They finished it together, and in the late afternoon Jack went fishing. At dusk he brought home said beautiful fishy on the tip of his cutlass.

It was storm season, and though the weather was gorgeous now, a light breeze and only white fluffy clouds glowing in the moonlight, Jack was certain they would appreciate a roof at some point soon. The roof would also prove deuced useful for collecting water, in the lovely basket Elizabeth was weaving by the firelight out of palm frond fibers.

For a governor’s daughter, Elizabeth proved quite capable, and aside from her headache that morning, had not complained one whit. In fact, she seemed to be having fun, humming as she wove, tucking the fibers down tight in her basket. It was a skill passed to her by their cook, as a means of keeping a curious Elizabeth out from under foot in the cook shed. She never dreamed she would use it this way.

Elizabeth watched Jack out the corner of her eye, chuckling as he poked the fish again and again with his knife, urging it to cook faster. After a full day of work, the pirate captain was ravenous. He’d never quite managed to put his shirt on again after removing it to go fishing, and Elizabeth found she didn’t mind the view. A story of adventure and foreign lands was written in scars and tattoos across his skin, and as time went on she found her fingers itched to trace them all.

She thought of the way he’d swaggered up to her with the fish, grinning once more in the way she knew best, that gold tooth glinting in the merciless Caribbean sun. He’d kissed the tip of her sunburned nose with a tenderness that turned her knees to jelly. “Ye need t’use your palm parasol, luv,” he’d said. “You’re fixin’ t’be red as this fish.”

Of course, she ignored his sage advice, because she couldn’t _do_ anything while holding a palm frond with one hand. She stuck to the shade when she could, but it was a battle the sun seemed destined to win.

When at last the fish began to flake from its skewer they greedily snatched it up to eat. And Jack yelped, as it was naturally too hot. Laughing, Elizabeth blew on a bite to cool it, and offered it to Jack on the tips of her fingers. He hesitated only a moment, before taking the proffered morsel, nibbling the tips of Elizabeth’s fingers besides. She giggled, gasping with delight as he sucked one digit clean.

“Captain Sparrow, I don’t think I’ve had enough rum to allow that kind of amorous attention.”

“We can remedy that,” he assured her, passing her the bottle of rum by his side. Smiling cheekily, she poured a bit into her open coconut. This one was a bit more mature than her breakfast, and filled with creamy white milk. Adding the rum made a surprisingly delicious mix. With a little sugar, it could have been _delectable_.

“This is quite tasty. Thank you, Jack,” said Elizabeth, taking another bite of fish.

“I live to serve,” he replied with a hint of sarcasm, and a sliding glance. Jack knew they should enjoy it while they could. He’d been extremely lucky to catch that fish, and doubted it would happen every day.

Jack perused the lass who sat beside him, the governor’s daughter turned marooner. The constant salty breeze had tightened the waves in her hair, making for an even wilder golden mane than before. Her nose was indeed a little burnt, but her eyes were bright, and her spirits seemed to be high. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t ye luv?”

“A bit,” she admitted, looking out to the sea. “It’s the most free I’ve ever been. There has always been someone telling me what to do in my life. Even when there was not an actual person telling me, _do this, go there, smile, be civilized--_ there was always the expectation of what _is done_. Today I made something _useful_ with these two hands.” She looked at the hands in question, once soft and lily white and now already beginning to show callous. She wiggled her long tapered fingers, inspecting nails that were now broken or bitten off out of practicality.

She could feel the weight of Jack’s gaze upon her, a half smile curling his full lips. Suddenly she felt very self-conscious, and feared she might have sounded like an absolute nitwit, not to mention a spoiled brat, to this man who had undoubtedly lived a life of hardships she could not even fathom. Elizabeth averted her eyes, looking down at the sand.

“I suppose you think me quite ridiculous.”

“Not at all, luv. Ye did well today. I’m right proud, matter o’ fact.” If someone had told him, before all this began, that Jack would be stuck on a desert island with a governor’s daughter, he never _ever_ would have thought it would go so well. Perhaps he should stop thinking of her as _the governor’s daughter,_ he scolded himself. She deserved an identity all her own, not dependent on her father’s title.

He would think on that.

For now, perhaps just Elizabeth would do. Or perhaps just Lizzy? Perhaps even _his Lizzy?_

 _Not yet, mate_ , he reminded himself.

Elizabeth smiled, his esteem putting a bit of wind back in her sails. “Did I? Have you decided I would make an adequate marooner’s wife after all?” she teased, her eyes glittering with mischief.

 _Onto_ this _again?_ thought Jack, his heart making a telltale _thump-thump_ in his chest. He sensed the jest in her tone, and yet perhaps also a little calculation. She was a sly one, this girl. What was it she really wanted? Somehow, being saddled in matrimony to a notorious pirate just didn’t seem like a feasible motivation. Perhaps she was scared? She was scared, underneath that brave face, and she wanted something to take her mind off it all?

Well, where was the harm? Stuck on a deserted island in the middle of the great blue backwater that was the Caribbean… _And, you want her,_ the devil inside chuckled, completely unable to let Jack delude himself that he was making a completely noble folly.

 _Aye, I bloody want her_ , Jack agreed with that dark and annoying little voice. _Now go away._

“Well, luv, now that you mention it…” Affecting an officious expression, he twisted the tips of his mustache, winning delighted laughter from Elizabeth, all her doubts evaporating into the night.

 _That_ _sound_ , marveled Jack. It was like the peal of bells. He found that he very much wanted to hear it again.

He took her hand in his, and pressed the gentlest kiss to the back of it. “Milady Elizabeth, in the short time of our acquaintance I have come to admire you greatly. Your unparalleled beauty, your brilliant intelligence, and courage to rival the heart of a lion. Will ye do me the vast and venerated honor of entering with me unto that holy estate, mar-i-age?”

She smiled brightly, those eyes shining in the firelight like burnished copper. She thought of Norrington’s utterly bland proposal compared to Jack’s, and her heart swelled. She spoke as though they were having an audience in her drawing room, and not alone upon a deserted island in the middle of the Caribbean. “Captain Sparrow, I am shocked and delighted. This comes as _such_ a surprise.”

He smiled, a gold tooth glinting in the dampening flames, and despite the pretty words there can be no mistaking who--or what--lay beside her in the sand. Not a gentleman. A pirate. A fierce and wild man of fortune.

A certain shyness suddenly overcame Elizabeth. The lines had blurred, as they do sometimes on a tropical night soaked in rum. My god, what if he was serious? _What_ _if_? She moistened her suddenly dry lips with a flick of pink tongue, an action of which Jack watched with abject fascination.

“And what if I say yes?” she asked, looking up at the pirate from beneath her lashes. Such a look, such seeming innocence paired with just a hint of mischief, hit Jack like a punch to the gut. This _girl_ , this foolish little chit, this madly beautiful woman-child--what on earth had he gotten himself into?

He realized that they were playing a game, but at the same time he simply wanted her to say _yes_. Even if for the short time they occupied this island, whether they were rescued or died of the elements, he wanted her to be _his_.

“If ye say yes…” He slipped a ring from his pinky finger, the only one that would even have a hope of staying upon her delicate digits. It was a golden skull with diamond eyes, the diamonds rough cut and steely in the firelight. “Then you shall have _this_. According to the Code of the Brethren, it would mean we are bound.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, regarding the ring with a slight smile, and more than a hint of skepticism. “Is this a trick, Jack?”

Before they came to the island, he had tricked her quite a few times. The worst part was she never saw it coming. Or perhaps the _very_ worst part was that she always seemed to look forwardto the punch line, the crux, the last word, even if it was at her expense. Jack Sparrow kept her guessing, and she liked it.

That was terrifying in of itself.

“A trick? Me?” He pressed long fingers to his chest in a theatrically affected gesture. She tried not to laugh, and failed miserably.

“It stands to question,” she insisted.

“A lady asks me to ask for her, which is odd in a way, a proposal for a proposal. It is also highly improbable, for Jack Sparrow only has two loves in this world, the Pearl, and the Sea. And yet when he _does_ this improbable thing, the said asking, as he was _asked_ to do, this exceptional lass thinks it’s a trick. What do you think about that, luv?”

Elizabeth blinked, attempting to untangle his garbled reply, and failing at that too. She blamed the rum. Instead she fixed on something else.

“You say we will be bound? Meaning I belong to you?”

“Meaning, you are _tied_ to me. And I you, lass. We’re pirates, you and I. That means we take an equal share.”

“I’m not a pirate, Jack.”

“Perhaps not…” His black eyes gleamed, and in that moment she felt as though he could see right through her. She felt certain Jack Sparrow knew everything about her with just a look, and always had. “But you could be. I can tell. You and I have far more in common here,” he tapped her chest, just above her breastbone, “Than you and the commodore, or especially the blacksmith. Peas in a pod, love.”

At Jack’s light touch Elizabeth’s heart suddenly began to pound in her chest. This wasn’t real, she told herself. This was nothing but a game, but a wickedly fun one. And yet a part of her very much wanted Jack’s words to be true.

Jack never, ever expected her to actually offer her hand to him. He still expected her to say something in a sudden well-bred huff, and stalk to the other side of the fire. Maybe slap him too, and well, it would have been fun while it lasted. Never in a million years would he have guessed that she would lift that delicate hand and let him slip his ring upon her finger.

Of course, it was all balderdash. There was no Brethren code about betrothal with a proffered ring or anything else. And yet, the intention behind the fun--Jack sensed that that could be very real. Very real indeed. It was as terrifying as it was tantalizing.

Elizabeth admired the ring upon her finger, the skull bulky and all too menacing for the svelte appendage it encircled. But she smiled with delight, turning it this way and that, the fire shadows making the diamond eyes seem almost alive. Jack lay in the sand and watched her, seeming amused by her girlish delight for the bauble.

But soon she rested her hand in the sand between them, looking to Jack expectantly. His heart lurched for the way she looked upon him, curiosity and calf-trust shining in her eyes. She didn’t really believe he would hurt her, he could see it plain as day.

It was an expectation he didn’t know if he could live up to.


	7. Sir Jack Sparrow, Twice Canonized

 

“Dare we seal it with a kiss?” she asked coyly, unable to conceal the breathy note of desire in her tone. She thought of the night previous. She’d _been_ thinking of the night previous, all day. She thought of it when Jack began gallivanting about without a shirt, his beautiful, sun-browned, masculine body on full display to her hungry eyes. He ignited things within her that she’d always been told a lady does not feel.

Well, they were all wrong. Terribly, horribly, absolutely bloody wrong.

Either that, or Elizabeth wasn’t really a lady, and that was a possibility she’d suspected for most of her life.

“I should certainly like to,” Jack answered, leaning towards her with that wicked little smile. _Oh_ , what he did to her, with just the slightest curl of those lips! And when those lips touched hers, Elizabeth felt herself melting inside. Her limbs turned to pudding, and a rather embarrassing tremble racked her frame. He held the side of her face gently, his fingers sliding into her hair at the base of her skull.

And as the night before, the kiss grew, became a deeper, pulsing, eager thing between them. She wondered if he would do as he had before, and press her down into the sand with his body and his lips on hers. She wondered…if she would lose her innocence that night, because she didn’t think she possessed the strength to stop him from taking anything he might want from her, because she _wanted_ to give it to him.

Suddenly Jack scooped her up, winning a rather surprised little _yip_ from her in the process, and deposited her upon his lap. Her knees straddled his waist, and in this position she found she was actually taller than the pirate. She liked it already. “There now, Lizzy,” he whispered against her neck, kissing her just below her ear. “How’s this?”

He remembered the night before, and thought that perhaps he’d frightened her a little, his body trapping hers. This way she had control. She could walk away if she wanted to, though he very much hoped she wouldn’t.

“It is…” Her thought trailed off as he kissed her neck. “Very nice,” she finally managed to answer.

“Just _nice_?” Jack teased, his hands trailing over the flesh of her curves and down her spine, winning a delicious shiver. “Ye know how to cut a man down.”

“It is _lovely_ ,” she tried again through a sigh, her eyes sliding closed as his hands found her hair once more. “This is all quite new to me, Jack.” A flaming blush welled upon her cheeks, and though Jack could hardly see it in the firelight, he could feel the heat of it emanating from her skin. A small smile pulled at his lips.

“Are ye embarrassed, luv?” he asked, kissing her neck.

“A little, I suppose.”

“Don’t be. What’s there to be embarrassed about? I’m a man, and you’re a woman, and we seem to find each other’s persons highly agreeable. What could be more natural? Never understood why that should be a sin.”

She didn’t either, truth be told.

“Perhaps people have found it frightening. This _thing.”_ She didn’t even know what to call it. This heavy, hot feeling against her skin. This tingling, insistent chatter inside her head, and an almost unbearable tightness in the cradle of her hips. Jack did this to her, and she had a feeling he knew how to make it better. “It’s very…powerful.”

“ _Desire_ , luv. Is that what ye mean?”

His hands made a slow circuit up and down her back, causing her to shiver and bow when he touched the sensitive areas at the top of her shoulders and the base of her spine. Her voice came husky, barely recognizable to her own ears. “I think so.”

Surely she didn’t mean love? She barely knew this man. How could she be in love with him? She found she wasn’t even sure about that. Infatuated, perhaps. She’d fancied him since she was a girl. But what she felt when she looked at Jack Sparrow felt far more powerful--far more precious--than any flitting little fascination she could have conjured when she was a child.

“Desire is a funny thing,” he said, his hands straying down to her thighs. She gasped as he squeezed her flesh, those large strong hands taking the measure of her. By hunger in his expression, she gathered he approved. “It is powerful. And beautiful. And…a bit like magic, I think. And a double edged sword. It isn’t quite enough that I want to touch you. And I certainly _do_. I also want you to want me to touch you. That is as important as the first.”

His hands slid higher, disappearing beneath Elizabeth’s skirts. His thumbs caressed the sensitive insides of her thighs, and the pleasure in it was almost unbearable. She squirmed in his lap, scooting closer, wanting his body pressed against hers. Inevitably her hips met the bulge in his breeches, moving against him, and it was the pirate’s turn to groan against the hollow of her throat.

“Not all men are so discerning,” observed Elizabeth.

“Most men are pissants,” he assured her, his voice suddenly gravely.

Elizabeth laughed out loud, finding she very much agreed. She sought his mouth once more, needing his lips and his tongue and his teeth upon her flesh. “I very much want you to touch me,” she admitted, sighing as he nibbled her chin and the line of her jaw. “I just…don’t know exactly how, yet.”

By the way she rocked her hips against him, Jack was certain she would be a quick study. He supposed there are some things the body simply _knows._ This was a dance older than time itself between a man and a woman.

“Ah. _That_ I can help you with.” Jack’s exploring hands slid down the length of her thighs, cupping her bare buttocks, pulling her just a little closer. Christ, those cheeks were round and taut and supple… Her hands convulsed upon his shoulders, skittish for the intimate contact, and yet she didn’t want him to stop. Everything he did felt marvelous, and she never wanted him to stop.

He kissed her gently, in an attempt to damper his own ardor, as much as her own. At this rate it would all be over all too soon, and he knew he should take his time. She whimpered when his hands vacated from under her dress, palming the curves of her waist once more. Jack smiled for her eagerness, the adventurous little minx. _God bless young women_ , he thought. “Let’s take a little time to get to know each other, eh? I want to know what you like.” He kissed the flat of her chest, and Elizabeth tilted her head back, sighing with abandon.

“I like everything you do,” she assured him, and so far, she did. “What do _you_ like, Jack?”

The pirate chuckled against her skin, nibbling and kissing her neck and shoulders, infinitely aroused by the little sounds of pleasure she made. He liked _her_. He liked her like this, her long torso bent over him, the weight of her body on top of his. “I like…wet kisses,” he told her, demonstrating in a way that left her impossibly twice as flushed as before. “I like a little bit o’ teeth.” He bit her shoulder gently, sending a thrill jetting down her spine. “And I like your hands on me.” He placed her hands upon his bare chest, and she took over on her own, exploring the ridges and contours of his chest, his muscles and scars and the light dusting of black curling hair that led down his torso.

Elizabeth’s touch lingered upon the bullet scars, and some of the light faded from her eyes. Jack imagined the sight was jarring to a girl who had never seen such things. “S’alright luv. Happened a long time ago.”

She ducked down to kiss his scars, her mouth hot as a brand against his skin. “I would take it all away if I could,” she whispered, whimpered. “All the pain I know you’ve suffered.”

Jack froze for a moment beneath her, taken utterly aback. No one had ever said anything like that to the pirate captain before. In the circles he travelled, life _was_ pain, and everyone accepted it as it came. If a man lived to tell the tale, then he was ahead of the game. But this sweet little siren, for all her innocence, who had lived a cushy life in the mansion upon the hill--that she could feel empathy for a salty wretch like him left Jack stupefied. It touched him in a place deep inside, a place he’d thought long blown to flinders and sunk into the black abyss.

Ah, but the last thing he wanted at this moment was to feel sorry for himself, or for the lass to feel sorry for him. “I wouldn’t,” he told her, sliding his fingers into her hair, drawing her attention back up to him. “Because everything I’ve done, good and bad, painful and foolish and stupid or brave, has brought me here to this moment with you, luv. Without all the rest, everything would be different.”

Elizabeth smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds after a squall. Bright and breathtaking. She found that she liked the way Jack’s mind worked. He did not dwell upon things he could not change. He took what pleasure he could in the moment he found himself in, wherever that may be.

Jack and Elizabeth continued their exploration. Jack found that her feet were ticklish, her legs impossibly svelte and long, and she had a little mole on her chest that a proper neckline would never reveal to the world. But Jack knew. Jack knew, and he doubted anyone else besides her lady’s maid had ever laid eyes upon it before. Somehow, that was precious to him, though Jack had never spent much time dwelling before on who had explored the female territory in his arms afore him. _She_ was different, he was beginning to see. _Quite_ different.

How beautiful and terrifying it was.

“How do you feel, luv?”

She gave a shaky laugh as his hands travelled the lengths of her thighs again. “ _You_ know.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Describe it to me. S’part of the fun.”

She tilted her head, eyes closed as his thumbs made lazy circling passes upon the insides of her thighs. Of their own volition her legs parted more, wanting him _there_. Perhaps if he touched her _there_ some of this insane howling inside would cease.

“I feel like I’m on fire,” she admitted.

Jack grinned, and it was a little feral, more a baring of teeth than a smile. “A bit pent up, eh?”

“Yes,” she sighed. Oh, he was _so close._ His thumb hovered at the juncture of her hip and thigh, torturously short of the mark.

“Like…ye might explode?”

“Yes. Like there’s fifty pounds of powder burning inside me. Like I might die if you don’t…I don’t know what I want you to do.”

He felt her trembling beneath his hands, and it was a heady, delicious thing.

“I know what ye need, luv. Can I show you?”

“Yes! God yes, Jack, _please_ …”

And finally he touched her, sliding the pad of his thumb against her moist folds. Elizabeth gasped, gripping his shoulders, burying her face in the bend of his neck. He circled her slowly, brushing that spot that made her mind go _numb_. Her hips rocked against his hand, instinctive, knowing, even if her higher self had no idea. When he slipped a single finger inside her, just past her entrance, she really thought she might die from the pleasure of it. Yet when he tilted her back, so that he could nibble her nipple through the thin lawn of her chemise, sending a lightning bolt of tense pleasure through to her center, she thought she might die of _that._

“I think you’re trying to kill me,” she whimpered, instinctively thrusting against his hand.

“Nay, darlin’. I’m going to set you free.” He touched her harder, faster, deeper, his mouth locked to hers. The fuse inside her simmered and crackled, too much pleasure, more than her fragile mortal body could possibly _stand_. When at last her release came, an explosion that tore through her body like fire, Elizabeth let loose a ragged cry, her body arching against Jack, and then into him. She held onto him for dear life as she trembled like a leaf in his arms, his now gentle fingers stroking the last frissons of pleasure from her. He kissed her hair and held her limp body close, grinning from ear to ear. “You are _so_ beautiful, luv,” he whispered into her hair.

A long moment passed before she could lift her head from his shoulder, raking her hair out of her face. She blinked, fighting to focus upon Jack’s face. He was smiling like Puck himself, pleased as the cat who ate _all_ the cream.

She kissed him. She kissed him long, and slow, like he was the last drop of honey in a jar she desperately wanted to lick away. She wasn’t sure anymore about that earlier certainty, that she didn’t love Jack Sparrow. Perhaps her mind was a little befuddled. _Oh_ , but she felt so warm and fuzzy and good inside. It was like her limbs were made of warm molasses and beams of light.

She reached down between them to the buttons of his breeches, and found her hands trembled too badly to work them. Jack took mercy upon her, eagerly reaching down to free himself into her hands. When she grasped him she froze, fascinated and a little afraid of this mysterious part of a man. It was hard as rock, yet somehow so velvety soft to the touch. And, it was _quite_ large, and that intimidated her more than a little.

Jack chuckled, a gravelly sound from deep in his throat. “Don’t be afraid, luv. It won’t bite.”

“How…will it _fit?”_ she blurted, and immediately covered her mouth for the outburst, embarrassed again.

Jack laughed, but it was a sound of pure joy, and not derision. “Not that I wouldn’t _like_ to, and it _would_ fit, I very much assure you…I think it best we not relieve you of your maidenly innocence _just_ yet.”

Somehow surprise, relief, and also disappointment mingled in Elizabeth’s breast. “You don’t want to?”

“Oh, I want to,” he assured her. “But...perhaps we should save something for the wedding night?”

More like, perhaps he wouldn’t be hanged, he thought, if she made it off this island a virgin. In fact, he should be knighted. And canonized.

Sir Jack Sparrow, Patron Saint of lost little virgins.

Ye gods.

“Oh.” She couldn’t quite hide the disappointment in her tone.

“But there are other ways to enjoy each other, my sweet betrothed,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Show me?” She began to stroke him slowly, feeling the shape of him in her hand. There was _nothing_ on her body to equate it to. So strange, and…beautiful. She found Jack beautiful, every part of him. Jack closed his eyes as she squeezed him gently, running her hand up and down his shaft. His toes curled in the sand, her touch sending jets of delicious sensations through his body.

“Not sure I need to, luv,” he chuckled, groaning as she added a little more pressure to her explorations.

Elizabeth watched his face as she touched him, feeling suddenly quite powerful for the way she made him feel. He guided her rhythm with his hand over hers, and whispered in her hair what to do and what he liked and sweet things that made her weak inside all over again. She had him so worked up that it wasn’t long before he let her go, let her finish what they’d started. He came with a groan and a few very ungentlemanly words, his face buried in her mane of hair, spilling upon her hand and his own belly. Elizabeth looked upon what she’d done to him with a certain fascination, testing the viscous white fluid upon her fingers.

When Jack finally raised his head, he read the triumph shining in her amber eyes. Quite proud, was his Lizzy. Christ, she’d earned the right. He kissed her gently, twitching as she stroked him one last time. It was _too_ much, too much pleasure to stand.

If she did that with just her hands, what _would_ it be like to be inside her? Jack dared wonder, all the while knowing it was a _bad_ idea.

If she made it off this island a virgin, he deserved to be _double_ canonized.

Sir Jack the Twice Sainted.

That would be the least of how he deserved to be lauded.


	8. An Adequate Stroke

 

“Lizzy, look what you’ve done, naughty girl. What a mess!” he teased.

She still stared wide eyed. “Does that always happen?”

“When you do it right. _Very_ right,” he assured her, and she smiled. “Care to join me for a swim?”

“A swim? Now?”

“Why not? Tis a beautiful night.” He gestured towards the burgeoning moon shining bright in the sky, so bright the beach and the water was almost clear as day. “Ring about the moon. We’ll see rain tomorrow. Probably in the morning.”

“Oh.” She chewed upon her lip, as though embarrassed about something. After what they’d just done, he couldn’t imagine what could possibly have her worried now. “I don’t swim that well, Jack.” She understood the basic idea, she could keep herself afloat, but it wasn’t exactly something she was given the opportunity to practice for pleasure, a lady of her station. She’d managed to paddle her way to the island from the Pearl, but the truth was that Jack had helped her a great deal in crossing that distance.

She waited for him to ridicule her. To say _well no wonder ye almost drowned before, ye useless chit._ But he just smiled, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “Never too late to improve, eh? I’ll be right there with you. We won’t go too deep. Just enough to get clean. Bet you’ve never had a dip in the buff before.”

“Certainly _not_ ,” she admitted, laughing a little for the thought of committing such an act in Port Royal.

“It will feel good. Come on.”

In answer she lifted her arms, and it took Jack a moment to realize that she meant for him to divest her of her chemise. And damn if his hands didn’t shake a little as he drew the garment up over her head, to reveal the goddess hiding beneath mortal clothing.

She was _beautiful_. Absolutely _fucking beautiful_ and he didn’t know what he’d done in a past life to deserve this respite from reality, but it must have been good. Must have saved a whole house full o’ orphans from a fire, or a basket full of kittens at least…

“Jack?” He realized a few very long moments had passed in which he simply stared at her, and he shook his head a little to clear his utter befuddlement. “Is something wrong?” she asked, looking down at herself with wide eyes.

“No luv,” he assured her. “You are simply the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Elizabeth laughed a little, thinking of how far Jack had travelled, the places he’d been and the things he must have seen. Not to mention all the _women_ he must have seen along the way… Even if she wanted to believe him, she found she didn’t dare take his word that she was the _most_ of anything in Jack Sparrows long and vast repertoire. “What. Ye don’t believe me?”

“You are very sweet, Captain.”

“ _Sweet_?” he exclaimed playfully, helping her to her feet. “I am a notorious and fearsome pirate, missy. The most dastardly buccaneer to ever sail the Spanish Main.” She watched as he pushed his breeches from his hips, stepping out of the clothing towards her. But she hardly had a chance to admire the view of him bared before her, for he scooped her up into his arms, hoisting her as though she weighed as much as a feather. She squealed with delight, looping her arms about his neck as he began walking towards the water. “Sailors positively quiver in their boots when they see my colors, and you think I’m _sweet_?” Somehow he managed to tickle her as he held her, and she squirmed in his arms.

“Mercy!” she cried, laughing all the while. “Captain Sparrow, mercy, I beg you!”

He splashed into the water, and she screamed a little for the chill against her skin.

“No mercy for you, luv. No mercy, no quarter, and especially no _parlay_.” He dunked them both, and they came to the surface sputtering and laughing. Elizabeth held on to Jack’s neck as he took them deeper, swaying with the pull of the waves.

He was right. Swimming in the nude in the warm Caribbean waters felt _wonderful_. And so did Jack’s body near hers, his skin seeming feverishly hot in the water. Elizabeth pushed her hair out of her eyes, so she could better see the man before her. His eyes seemed impossibly dark, reflecting the moonlight like quicksilver as he looked upon her.

“What are ye thinkin’, luv.”

He pulled her closer, and though the water was over her head, she felt quite safe in his arms. A long enough pause stretched on that Jack thought she might not care to answer his question. When finally she spoke, she floored him again, an act of which she was proving quite proficient. “I’m thinking that this has been the happiest day of my life.” She very much meant it too. The mix of freedom, adventure, and this man, this _intoxicating_ man, had turned her world on its head. She didn’t even mind.

She didn’t really even want to go home.

If a ship appeared on the horizon at that moment, she could have happily waved it on its way. This was paradise here, with her pirate Captain.

“It has been a _very_ fine day,” Jack agreed. _The happiest_ , though? Jack didn’t know. He didn’t remember any times recently in which he’d been truly very happy. Perhaps there had been some intermittent revelry, usually soaked in rum, but _truly_ happy?

The last time he’d been _truly_ happy had been his last day behind the helm of the Pearl, he realized. And that had been over a decade ago. Where had his life _gone_? He’d had ships since the Pearl. He’d used them like disposable vessels, mere tools with which to go from point A to point B, and to stir up some mischief in the between. None had had the same connection. The same allure, the same _meaning_ , as his dark lady of the water.

“And what are _you_ thinking, Jack?” she asked, noting a bit of sadness overtaking his expression.

“I was thinking of the Black Pearl,” he admitted. “The last time I was this happy was when I captained _her_.”

“That was more than ten years ago.”

“Indeed it was, luv.”

Elizabeth thought of what Jack had said earlier. That he only had two loves, the Pearl and the Sea. If she made him as happy as when he’d known that first love, then did that mean…? She hardly dared even hope.

“You speak of her like a man speaks of a woman.”

“Aye, I know. Ye think I’m daft?”

 _Go on,_ he thought. _Say I’m crazy. Everyone else thinks so._

“No,” she found herself answering honestly. “I’ve been around ships my whole life, and there is none like her. I think I understand perfectly well.”

Jack didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath, until it escaped in a _whoosh_. He pulled her body against his, and Elizabeth wrapped her legs about his tapered waist, holding him as the waves tried to gently take her away. Feeling her against him in such a way instantly made him go hard once more, and he marveled at _that_ being possible so soon after. What had she done to him? She made him feel years younger.

With a hand upon her jaw Jack tilted Elizabeth’s face towards his, regarding her fine features in the moonlight. “I have an eye for singular beauty,” he assured her, and Elizabeth found herself rolling her eyes heavenwards with a shy smile.

Men took great pains to tell her of her beauty, to the point where it had begun to become tiresome. That was her role in life, her sole reason for being. To be a pretty doll. Couldn’t they see that there was so much more beneath her surface? Though Jack complimented her sweetly--and he _was_ sweet in his way, no matter how he protested--she had a feeling the pirate was the only man in her life who had ever actually noticed who she really was beneath her fine façade.

“I think _you’re_ beautiful,” she countered with an impish smile, fingering a charm in his hair. It was a bright blue bead with a white and black center. It looked like an eye. “What’s this?”

Jack made a face as he attempted to look down his nose at the bead in question. Finally he managed to see what she spoke of. “Ah. It’s a _nazar_. A charm to repel the evil eye. Got it on a little visit to the Ottoman empire.”

Fascinated, she rifled through his charms and beads, asking the story of every one, half believing the answers she got. “I’m surprised you have no black pearls in here, Jack,” she teased, smoothing his ropes of hair back behind his shoulders. “My mother had a strand of black pearls that she cherished. I remember marveling at them as a child. The way they seemed to capture and hold the light… But they were lost in the journey from London. Where do black pearls come from?”

“Tahiti,” Jack answered. “Lovely little atoll in the South Pacific. We’ll go sometime, and I will buy you a strand long as your arm. Well…I’ll nick you one, at any rate.”

Elizabeth couldn’t hide her pleasure, hearing Jack make mention of the future, of places they would go together. Even if they were empty promises, she found she didn’t care at the moment. At the moment, nothing could bring her down.

“Now then, what about that swimming lesson?” said Jack. “Ye ain’t learning a thing clingin’ to me like a monkey.”

“A monkey?!” She affected great outrage, splashing him a little.

“A very _bonnie_ monkey. Now come on, be a good girl. Let’s see your stroke.”

“Apparently my stroke was perfectly adequate earlier,” she answered cheekily, and Jack’s erection twitched against her belly for the thought.

He smiled wickedly for her saucy little comment. She kept surprising him, and that was something easier said than done for the well-travelled sea captain. “Save some o’ that for later, eh luv?”

Jack made good on his promise, and showed Elizabeth how to make herself a creature of the water, how to make her body streamlined and cut through the waves, rather than a land-lubbering thing splashing about uselessly. He showed her the backstroke, and how to tread water without expending too much energy.

Elizabeth tested her new skills, and felt something bump her foot. “Jack,” she admonished, assuming it to be the pirate captain playing a joke.

He canted his head, curious, and she realized he was too far away to have touched her. “Somethin’ wrong, luv?”

“Something just touched my foot,” she said quietly, a frisson of fear making its way up her spine. The water suddenly felt unbearably cold.

Jack’s expression went very solemn. He gripped her arm, pulling her towards him, into shallower water. “We are going to swim very quickly, very calmly, back to the shore. Just like I showed you, eh?”

She followed his lead, and when she lagged a little behind Jack pulled her with a firm hand. They exited the sea holding each other, dripping salt water and adrenaline. Jack turned back to look, searching the moonlit waters. Elizabeth followed his gaze, and gasped when a telltale triangular dorsal fin cut through the surface of the water where they’d just been splashing and laughing moments ago.

 _So much for her ever trusting me again,_ thought Jack sadly as she sought the shelter of his chest, hiding her face there. She trembled a little and Jack said soothing soft things against the top of her head, stroking her back.

But wait?

Was she…laughing?

She was. She bloody _was_. Elizabeth looked up to Jack, her eyes impossibly bright in the moonlight, a smile pulling the corners of her lips. “Looks like we cheated death again, Captain Sparrow,” she said, somehow delighted by their near misadventure.

“Aye, we did,” Jack agreed, a little befuddled by her reaction.

Was this girl afraid of _anything_? And people called _him_ daft.

Perhaps he’d met his match after all.


	9. Too Perfect

# Chapter 9: Too Perfect

 

 

Beneath their shelter the pair lay side by side upon a bed of fan palm fronds. Though they had retrieved their clothes, neither had quite managed to put them back on. The garments lay in a forgotten heap at their feet.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to lay naked with Jack. The way he looked at her, like she was a precious thing of rare beauty, evaporated any embarrassment she might have felt.

Jack brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, trailing his fingers around the shell of her ear and down the line of her jaw. He traced the arch of her shoulder and the dip of her waist, sending a delicious shudder across her skin. Now that this Pandora’s box had been opened he couldn’t seem to stop himself from touching her. Luckily she didn’t seem to mind.

“So, you’d rather jump from a battlement than accept the proposal of a proper gentleman. Yet ye don’t mind being promised to a notorious pirate. You’re insanely beautiful and yet it doesn’t seem ye care much to hear it. Ye laugh in the face of shark attack. And you enjoy a nice little holiday bein’ marooned on a desert island…”

She ducked down to hide against his chest, waiting for him to call her crazy, or something worse. “I suppose it really is a farce to consider me a lady,” she grumbled against his breastbone.

“I was thinkin’ more along the lines that you’re _too_ perfect _,_ luv,” said Jack. When Elizabeth looked up he paid her a wicked little smile. “What’s the catch? Do ye snore?”

She laughed, pinching him lightly. “No! Well…I suppose I don’t know.”

“I guess I’ll find out. I bet ye drool in your sleep.”

“It would serve you right,” she said saucily and he chuckled, pulling her closer.

They began to doze off, until Elizabeth spoke again.

“Jack?”

“Darlin’?”

“I like it when you call me beautiful.”

“Aye?”

“I like it because you see me—you see past my looks, as well. You called me brave. No one’s ever noticed that before.”

“They noticed, darlin’. It just scares ‘em when a woman has mettle.”

“Why?”

Jack laughed a little, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Because if so much as ten of ye get your heads together, you blasted females will be runnin’ the whole show in no time. Best to keep ye subdued in pinchy garments servin’ us tea.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Course not. I think I’d like the world better if women were in charge. Men just want to destroy everything to leave their mark on the world. That’s the yang. But women are the yin. They are the creators and life givers. Men and women need each other, but it’s supposed t’be balanced.”

“Did you learn that in India too?”

“China.”

“You’re the most interesting man I know, Jack.”

“Hmm,” he acknowledged, half asleep again.

She snuggled closer, and fell asleep to the steady sound of his heart beat, his arms around her.

* * *

Lizzy woke in a haze to soft kisses upon her neck and shoulders. It was still dark outside; she may have slept for an hour, or four. She did not know, she only knew to turn towards Jack like a flower turns towards the sun. Jack washed over her like a wave, his clever mouth roaming over her body, her lips, her neck, her chest and breasts.

Caught somewhere in the place between wakefulness and dreams, Elizabeth gave herself over to the pleasure of his touch. Her higher brain had not yet awoken. There was only Jack’s body and hers, and the primal dance she already knew the steps to, deep deep down. Jack’s hips fit between her legs as though he were a long lost part of her. She rolled her hips against him, reaching, wanting, _yearning_.

When she captured what she most wanted at that moment, Jack’s body just barely sheathed inside her, he froze.

She felt _heavenly._

Vaguely, he knew this was something that should not happen, even as he wanted more than anything to push past that thin barrier that guarded her innocence and sink completely inside her. To claim what no other man yet had, or ever could again.

“ _I need you. I want you_ _to_ ,” she whispered, rolling her hips towards his. In that moment Jack was the alpha and the omega of her universe. There could be nothing else, no other truth, but his body and hers, together.

Jack couldn’t _fathom_ where he found the strength to retreat from her, sliding out in an act of self-control worthy of _thrice_ sainting.

“ _Jack!_ ” she protested as he placed wet kisses down the center of her body. “ _Come back._ ”

“ _Hush, luv,”_ he whispered, kissing her inner thigh. “ _Ol’ Jack knows what ye need.”_

When his lips and tongue, that wicked, clever mouth touched her center, she had nothing else intelligible to say. He rendered her speechless, weightless—he reduced her into a formless mass of tingling pleasure. A creature made of light, light infinite and mysterious as the stars above. He made her into a thing that was nameless—not Elizabeth, or Miss Swann, or even The Governor’s Daughter.

In Jack’s arms, her name was _His_.


	10. King of the Rock

The rain came that Jack promised, and the marooners had a supply of fresh water that would last sparingly for a couple days.

Jack made a pronged spear from a piece of driftwood that worked better than his cutlass for catching fish. They ate well for three days, and their spirits remained high. They hid in the shade during the day as much as possible, and the lovers spent their evenings sharing Jack’s catch, sharing kisses that melted like the Caribbean sun at high noon.

It seemed that what little time Jack spent apart from Elizabeth he spent thinking about her, a nigh alien sensation of fuzzy warmth taking up residence in his chest. He thought of her smile and her laugh, her wicked wit, and how on this desolate little island he had finally found a place that he dared think he might belong. Not on the island, per se, but with Elizabeth. He thought of her kisses, sweet as sugar and heady as rum. He also thought of her luscious mouth, and the other ways young Miss Swann was learning how to use it.

The thought made his knees a bit weak whenever he dared recall, which could be a little untimely when he was wading out on the sharp coral jetty in search of a meal. He’d taught her to appreciate numerous pleasures that did not involve the loss of her maidenhead, and though she’d proven a quick and eager study, he didn’t know how long they could forestall the inevitable, if they remained alone on the island.

Lines would blur, and the society that existed vaguely somewhere beyond the horizon would matter less and less. It already seemed like a distant dream; perhaps for Jack, it always had been.

He’d lived on the outside for so long.

It would not take long before their own reality took hold. A reality in which it did not seem so ridiculous for a pirate to fall in love with a Governor’s daughter.

 _Whoa there, mate. Love?_ He backpedaled in his thoughts, stood back, examined that strange and alien word as one would a mysterious fish washed up from the deep upon the shore. Something odd and unimaginable, something both terrible and fine.

_Aye, love._

But what _was_ love, exactly? If he’d ever known the impulse, he’d quashed it quickly before the blasted thing could grow into a monster that could not be tamed. He’d sailed away, and pursued the things that were far more certain, far less frightening. Treasure. Adventure. Death.

He loved the sea. He loved the Pearl. That was true.

That was true because he did not want to live without them. Losing the Pearl had dealt him a blow very much like losing a lover.

And what of Lizzy?

A life without Lizzy already seemed bleak indeed.

Life _with_ Lizzy, in _this_ world, at least, was quite grand. Even if they were perpetually hungry and half-baked to a crisp by the sun, dirty as swine in a way salt water just couldn’t wash away…When he returned to camp he would sit down beside her beneath their thatched hut, the roof above their heads they had built together, and show her what he’d caught. She would take his calloused sun browned hand and smile up at him as though he were a hero or a god, and his heart would swell and his head would spin.

This was a world that was not poisoned by social classes or money. This was far simpler. A man and a woman who liked each other, and were allowed to go about it as they pleased. Two people who depended upon each other for survival. Perhaps he relished playing the heap big hunter, laying his kill at his mate’s feet, but her efforts were just as essential to their survival. They needed the firewood she gathered to cook, and the coconuts for their milk and meat, and he was convinced the numerous baskets she’d now lined the awning with to catch fresh rainwater were the thing that would really keep them alive.

Jack sighed as he watched the crystal clear water for a fish to swim by.

_Love._

Perhaps the sun _had_ baked away his last remaining wit after all.

Why on earth would a girl like _that_ really want a man like him? He was old enough to be her father, and an outlaw to top it all off. Yet when she _looked_ at him, and paid him that _smile…_ he felt like a king, and a young one at that.

He would declare himself King of the Rock on this little lost spit of land, and Elizabeth his bonnie Queen at his side. Perhaps next she could weave him a crown.

Jack shook his head, utterly befuddled. But still, the corner of his mouth turned up just a tad, a small smile sneaking in.

_Love, indeed._


	11. Blasphemous Thoughts

Elizabeth wandered the tree line, dragging a sled she’d fashioned of driftwood and palm fronds. It was very useful for carrying the necessities she found on her gathering excursions. The island was not large at all. A body could walk around the whole thing at a brisk pace within an hour.

She took her time though, picking up this and that. Bits of drift wood. Coconuts. Shells whose shape tickled her fancy. She had quite a collection back at the hut now, natural sculptures bleached white with glossy underbellies the color of the sunset, piled artfully at the entrance. It was becoming a regular home sweet home.

Elizabeth looked to the sky, hoping for rain. Their stores would dwindle soon. A wisp of fear reared in her belly, but she quashed the feeling before it could gain any real weight. What would it do to worry? Today, they had enough. Today was a _fine_ day. She would do her best to gather what they needed for tomorrow, and maybe Jack would bring home another fish.

Still, the fear hovered, just in the back of her mind, like a nosy interloper eavesdropping at the door.

 _We’ll be fine_ , she assured herself. _Jack will see us through._

She wasn’t usually a person who indulged in blind faith, and found those who did weak willed or weak minded. Those who chose to place their fate in the hands of chance with a blithe _as God wills it_ always seemed utterly beyond comprehension to her, though she knew it was the way most people went about their lives. Yet, she found herself indulging in this practice now. She realized she had more faith in Jack, a seeming worker of miracles, than she could ever muster for an invisible unknowable God or divine providence or any of the other drivel she dozed through every Sunday beside her father in church.

“Well? No lightning bolt?” she inquired of the heavens, looking skyward once more, shielding her eyes against the glare.

Her blasphemous, improper thoughts seemed to be doing very little for conjuring rain.

She kept trying.

Here on their little island, she could do as she pleased, no one to stop her from making offerings at the altar of Captain Jack Sparrow. She could touch him with reverence, explore every ridge and surface of his body, perfect and strange as a figure of a heathen deity. There was no one to stop her from paying Jack proper lip service, complements and kisses and…

This train of thought caused her to blush and laugh a little, a combination of memory and imagination making her skin seem to simmer on her bones. Just when she thought the day couldn’t get any hotter, thoughts of Jack crept in, and thoughts of the things he’d taught her to do with her mouth that made him melt like putty in her hands. She was finding she loved that feeling of not only pleasing her pirate captain, but the power that came with it. He would say her name like a prayer, his fingers tangled in her mane of hair.

_Lizzy, sweet Lizzy, my Lizzy._

The latter was her favorite.

He would moan and beg when she teased him with her tongue or _just a little_ teeth. Already, she was learning how to torment him, and he would look down at her with eyes filled with black fire. Happily, she would throw herself upon his pyre, give herself over to utter immolation.

A delicious shudder coursed through her entire body with the thought, with anticipation of meeting him back at their camp. What would he show her tonight? She could hardly imagine. What else could there _be_?

Well. There was the _one_ thing. The thing Jack refused to take, even though she offered it to him time and again.

Her innocence.

That _thing_ in her possession that society insisted was so _very_ important that she preserve, though she herself decided it wasn’t very useful _at all_.

 _Take it, Jack Sparrow,_ she thought. _Take it all, all of me that ever was. I’m yours._ Happily she waved goodbye to the woman who had been Miss Elizabeth Swann, Governor’s Daughter. That woman could not survive here.

Here, there was only Lizzy.

Here, they were _free_.

Yet still Jack refrained from that _one_ thing, because he still believed they could be saved. It was as heartening as it was frustrating, that he refused to ruin her completely. It was as endearing as it was maddening, that he’d not given up hope.

Lizzy held up her hand, regarding the ring upon it with a warm and melting feeling spreading through her belly. The golden skull glittered in the sunlight, the diamond eyes catching the sun’s rays like sparks from a flint. She smiled, wiggling her finger, making the diamonds wink as though she and it shared a special secret. An oath made in firelight.

_We’re pirates, and pirates take an equal share._

In society’s eyes a dirty pirate like Jack wasn’t fit to lick her boots, but in her heart, she knew a thrill that he would deign to consider her an equal. Truly, no one ever had before. She had no real power of her own in her gilded cage. But here with Jack, she was cherished and useful. She had a hand in making her own destiny. It was intoxicating as it was terrifying.

With the intent to cool off a little, she crossed the strip of white sand to the water, wading in to her knees. She splashed herself a bit, and looked into the crystal clear waves. Remembering the shark, she dared not go deeper.

This was a part of the beach where the coral began to jut out, and she looked into the crannies of the rocks, hoping for a pretty shell.

Two beady black eyes stared out at her from a crevice.

“Hello there.”

At the same time, her stomach rumbled.

As though it could sense her hunger, the creature quickly retreated back, farther than she could possibly reach with her fingers.

Perhaps Jack would know how best to catch a crab. She could taste it already.

Suddenly a strange bellow echoed from across the island, from the place where they had made their camp. It almost sounded like a _horn_ , but the sound was lower, deeper, far more primal. Curious, Elizabeth waded from the surf, picking up her sled.

It was not too long of a walk before their camp came into view, smoke from the newly stoked fire rising high into the sky. Jack sat in the sand, and judging from the glint of gold in the distance, he appeared to be smiling.

As she neared closer he lifted a very large buff colored seashell to his lips, blowing in to the end. Elizabeth laughed, delighted.

“Jack, what have you found?” she asked, immediately enchanted by the lustrous pink nacre of the inside of the shell. Jack chuckled when he noticed the way she admired the shell, the way some women admire jewels. He relinquished the bauble, filled with warmth by the girlish excitement with which she received it.

Who knew that giving could feel so deuced good? This girl was corrupting him through and through.

“Oh, it’s _lovely_. It looks like a sunset.”

She regarded Jack from beneath her eyelashes, taking in the way he watched her with obvious enjoyment. He was so generous, and she took delight in such a simple thing in that he thought to bring her shells. Like a magpie, collecting bits of shiny for its mate. The truth was that when left to his own devices, Jack was sweet, and generous, and smart, a lover of adventure but not of violence, and she wondered what life he could have led if things had gone differently.

 _He’d be married and have a family, and not here with you_ a little voice whispered inside her head. And in a very selfish moment, Elizabeth was _glad_ for every misfortune between them that had brought them together.

“Ever eaten conch, luv?”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?” Her eyes travelled to the skewer now simmering above the coals, and then the gloppy pile of leavings and Jack’s gully knife in the sand beside the fire. She wrinkled her nose, even though the simmering meat _smelled_ heavenly. Her stomach growled, agreeing.

“Conch. It’s a giant sea snail.”

“Ah. How did you get it?”

“Dove for it, by the reef.”

He hadn’t been having much luck fishing. Just as he was about to give up he’d noticed the shelled little beastie making its way across the ocean floor in about 10 feet of water off the reef. Thoughts of their close call with the shark nearly kept him at bay, but the thought of Elizabeth going hungry that night steeled his nerve. He knew that if they went long without nourishment it would be a slippery slope and a quick descent down into starvation. They had to keep their strength up.

Elizabeth gasped. “You didn’t. Jack, the shark!”

Jack merely shrugged, even if his belly flipped a little for the thought of being mauled by a toothsome man eater. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, luv.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You could have been Captain Jack Sharkbait.”

“Nay. M’old, luv. Old and tough. Twas your tender flesh that tempted its appetite, I’m certain,” he teased, teeth glinting in the sun.

With a sigh Elizabeth straddled her pirate, sitting down in the cradle of his lap. Jack’s eyebrow raised, those clever lips curled in a mischievous smile. “You are a _little_ old…you probably _would_ be quite stringy,” she mused, pinching his muscled pectoral with a smirk. The truth of the matter was that she found Jack’s physique to be utterly breathtaking. She loved his wiry muscles, hard won from a life at sea, and his calloused hands rough from handling ropes and swords. Clever hands, that could tie her body up in knots, and just as deftly set her free. She even loved the lines upon his face, the creases at the corners of his eyes that showed most when he smiled.

“Oy!” he protested, pulling her closer, his dark eyes glittering with mischief. “You’ll pay for that, missy.”

She lifted her parted lips to his in anticipation, unable to suppress a shudder as his fingers slid into her hair. “I certainly hope so.”

While the conch tenders simmered he proceeded to kiss her silly.

**A/N: Notes on the ring from an antique jewelry nerd:**

**Google antique rose cut diamonds if you would like an idea for what I’m picturing in this ring. At this time they hadn’t quite perfected the art of cutting diamonds, like you think of today. They often would be oddly faceted and rather steely in color. Which I think is totally cool and perfect for a pirate’s skull ring. :)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Notes on the ring from an antique jewelry nerd:  
> Google antique rose cut diamonds if you would like an idea for what I’m picturing in this ring. At this time they hadn’t quite perfected the art of cutting diamonds, like you think of today. They often would be oddly faceted and rather steely in color. Which I think is totally cool and perfect for a pirate’s skull ring. :) You can also find some pretty cool images if you google antique memento mori ring.


	12. A Difficult Trade

 

The pair of marooners had enjoyed their bounty, but soon leaner times were upon them. Though blessedly rain provided fresh water stores, all the fish seemed to go elsewhere from the reef. A week went past that the pair lived on coconuts and hearts of palm.

They sat together by the fire, in their small ring of light in what seemed like a very dark, very lonely world. Elizabeth leaned upon Jack’s shoulder, watching the flames crackle. Once in a while he would frown, caught up in no doubt dark thoughts, and brush his lips over her hair as though to assure himself doom had not quite yet fallen upon them.

Elizabeth had never been so hungry in her life. Her stomach cramped, her body shook, and she was perpetually light headed. Though he tried not to show it, she knew Jack didn’t fare much better. They were so exhausted that they did not partake in their love play at night, choosing instead to simply sleep tangled in each other’s arms. Every night Elizabeth clutched Jack to her, wondering if sometime soon she would not wake with the coming dawn.

Though she sincerely wanted to live, Elizabeth realized she would not change a thing, to have had this short sojourn of freedom with Jack. Even if it seemed she was destined to die a virgin. Maybe that wasn’t so bad, really.

Elizabeth drifted off upon Jack’s shoulder. Sometime later, a swishing of sand brought Jack out of his brown study. He lifted his head, looking around suspiciously, half convinced the sound came from his own imagination. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

Yet the sound continued, a rhythmic patter that Jack knew he must investigate. “Lizzy luv,” he whispered, shaking Elizabeth’s shoulders gently. “Time t’get up.” Sleepily she sat up, and watched Jack wander on wobbly legs away into the darkness towards the sound.

The pirate’s heart pounded in his chest, filled simultaneously with hope and dread. The source of the sound could mean their salvation, though it wouldn’t be an easy thing.

He wandered the beach, searching the moonlit sand, until he nearly tripped upon the source of the mystery sound.

A huge loggerhead turtle had crawled up upon the beach, its shell easily five feet long. A small specimen, considering others Jack had seen. She was steadily digging a hole in the sand with her front flippers.

“What’s it doing?” whispered Elizabeth, coming to stand beside Jack.

“She’s going to lay her eggs here,” answered Jack solemnly.

Elizabeth felt the compulsion to take Jack’s hand, and for a long time they stood and watched the giant sea turtle dig, fingers entwined. Jack chewed on his lip, rather hating himself for what he was about to say. “We have to eat her, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth whimpered, hiding against his shoulder. She had always liked sea turtles, their sweet smiling faces and the way they seemed to fly through the clear waters of the Caribbean. The turtle crawls where the gentle behemoths were stored before being butchered had always plucked at her heart strings, though the sad fact of the matter was that they were delicious.

“Do we have to?” she asked, even as she knew the answer. She could hardly stand up as it was. What would tomorrow be like without food? A slow and steady march towards their demise, she feared.

“Aye,” answered Jack, sounding none too happy about it.

“But she’s a mother.”

“She won’t stick around to mother her young, luv. She lays the eggs and goes back off to the ocean. They won’t miss her.”

Elizabeth nodded, a sick feeling forming deep in her gut. “Oh, Jack,” she sighed, conveying all her sorrow with those two simple words.

“Go stoke the fire, luv. You don’t have to watch this. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

Tears were forming in Elizabeth’s eyes, and she marveled that she even had the extra water in her body to cry. “We should make a vow.”

“Eh?”

“We should make a vow to leave the eggs to hatch. No matter what happens. She gives her life so we can live, and we let all her babies live. It’s…what did you call it? Good karma?”

Jack chewed upon his lip. He was surprised Lizzy had taken his tales of the East so very to heart. He knew after the meat was gone that they may get to a point where turtle eggs would sound mighty tasty. But he admired Elizabeth for her determination. They would see how long it lasted. “Alright, luv. I promise not to eat the eggs. You?”

She nodded, squeezing his rough hand in hers. “I promise.”

Elizabeth went to stoke the fire, and Jack sat cross legged nearby, watching the turtle dig, waiting patiently for her to finish her task.


	13. Nothing Left To Lose

# Chapter 13: Nothing Left To Lose

 

They cooked enough of the turtle meat for a hefty meal upon skewers, and cured the excess with a smoker Jack devised of fan palm fronds constructed over coals. It was a blessing that lasted them for many days. And yet it seemed they had only stalled the inevitable. No more rains came, and fresh water stores dwindled.

Yet they kept to their promise, and the turtle nest went unmolested.

Exhausted, Elizabeth lay upon their palm frond bed, dozing through the worst heat of the day. Jack had insisted upon going in search of food, hopeful of finding something she had missed in her last foraging foray.

She felt certain he would return empty handed. She had scoured the island for edibles. The coconuts were gone. They had caught some crabs before, going down to the beach at night with a torch to surprise them. The ones that now remained were too smart and quick, impossible to catch, darting back into their narrow rocky holes at first sign of predators.

The fish had left.

The last of the dry wood lay in a pile by the fire.

This was it.

She wished Jack would come lay beside her. They could enjoy holding hands, at least, even if their bodies were too tired to engage in anything else.

When next she opened her eyes Jack was beside her, smiling gently. He clutched a large orange coconut in his brown hand. “Brought ye a gift, luv.”

Elizabeth sat up, smiling sleepily. “How did you find that?”

“M’Captain Jack Sparrow,” he answered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 _You’re Captain Jack Sparrow, alright. And you have failed this girl. You are both going to die here,_ his conscience berated him.

“Well, let’s crack it open, shall we?”

Jack did so with his cutlass, praying it wouldn’t be rotten inside. He’d found it hidden from view beneath a palmetto bush. But fortune smiled upon them one last time, it smelled wonderful. He held out the halves to Elizabeth. “All yours, my lady. I already ate mine,” he lied. She looked so wan and diminished and it was breaking his heart. He didn’t want to know what he himself looked like.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, assessing his statement. In the end, she decided his smile was just a tad too…she didn’t know. Only that she sensed he was doing something very chivalrous and a little stupid for her sake. “You eat half,” she insisted.

“No.”

“Yes. This is the last one, isn’t it?”

Stubborn girl, and too smart for her own good.

Jack sighed heavily. “Maybe…”

“We share it or it goes to waste.”

“Lizzy…” he protested, so very tired. He lay down upon the palm mat, closing his eyes. “You need it, luv.”

“We’re pirates, Jack. We take an equal share.” She dug out a piece of coconut meat, holding it to his lips. “Please?”

He opened his mouth, taking the proffered morsel, and kissing her fingers besides. They ate their treat in silence, wondering if it would be their last meal. When it was finished Elizabeth curled up by Jack’s side, resting her head in that dip in his shoulder that seemed carved just for her. Absently he toyed with locks of her hair, bleached blindingly golden by hours in the merciless sun. “M’sorry this didn’t go different, luv,” he whispered after some time, even as sleep tugged at his consciousness. He’d walked far, maybe too far, for that last coconut. But it had been worth it, he reasoned, to see that shining light in her eyes one last time.

“I just wish we had more time,” she answered.

“That yer only regret?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief, an eyebrow raised.

“Well…perhaps I wish you hadn’t been such a gentleman, and made love to me at least once,” she answered cheekily.

Somehow Jack found the strength to laugh. For her remark, for his folly, and the overall cruelty that was this life. “Me too, darlin’. Me too.”

She wondered if their bodies would ever be found. If someday, someone would come upon this desert isle and find their skeletons entwined in eternal rest. It was a rather morbid thought, and yet in her half-delirium the thought made her smile.

Jack fell into a deep sleep, Lizzy in his arms. He clutched her to him, and though they had not made any poetic and heartfelt declarations of love outside his playful marriage proposal, she felt certain that Jack had come to genuinely care for her. She knew she had absolutely lost her heart to him.

It was funny. She never expected falling in love for the first time to hurt so much. It was wonderful and yet so very terrifying.

After dozing for a little while, dreaming of dancing around the fire with rum bottles in hand, she woke again.

Elizabeth looked down at Jack, this fierce pirate rendered almost boyish in his sleep. So seemingly innocent. She stroked the plane of his cheekbone, in sharp relief now from their long lack of food. God, how she wanted to _live_. She wanted to stand upon the deck of a ship with Jack, and chase the horizon, the salty wind in their hair, a bottle of rum in hand.

She looked towards the hole where the cache of rum was stored. There was still a great deal of kill devil in there. They couldn’t drink it all, just the two of them. Rum was _very_ flammable, she knew.

And if she were to set that cache on fire, it would send a column of smoke up into the sky that could be seen for miles around.

Before she desperately didn’t want to be found, but now she very much would appreciate a rescue for the both of them, even if from the Royal Navy. It was a lark. A mad lark, she knew, but just maybe…

Using her last stores of strength, she picked up of piece of burning wood from the fire, and some dried palm fronds, walking towards the rum cache slowly, concentrating on placing one food in front of the other. If they could just live to fight another day…

 

* * *

 

 

Jack woke with a start, having dreamed of being in a sea battle, explosions of cannon fire bursting all around. He could swear he felt the heat of the blasts upon his face…

Some distance away, a huge fire crackled and spit, flames leaping twenty feet high. At first his brain refused to make sense of the fiery chaos.

Then it dawned on him.

The rum cache. How the devil…

He looked down to find the palm mat beside him empty. His heart fell like a stone, panic gripping his bones. “Lizzy!” he called, looking around with wild eyes. “Lizzy?!”

Finally he spotted her form not far from the blaze, looking like a crumpled flower blossom in her dingy white chemise. He didn’t know where he found the strength to dash towards her, half falling by her side, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “Lizzy?” He slapped her cheeks lightly. “Lizzy, please wake up. Lizzy?”

For a long time there was no response in her, and his heart plummeted, dread blooming like a poisonous flower in his guts. _No. No, no, no, no, no!_

Finally her lashes fluttered open, and he could have wept with relief. Indeed, something wet and extremely alien was welling up in the corners of his eyes. “Lizzy girl, what have ye done? You burned all the rum!”

A slow smile pulled at her lips. Even in this state his indignation amused her. “Signal fire,” she whispered, looking proudly to the column of smoke rising a hundred feet above the island. “Nothing left to lose.” She squeezed his hand, her grip so very weak upon him.

There was another explosion, bottles of rum bursting in the heat. Jack flinched, covering her prone body with his. Something stung in his back. Glass shards? Splinters? It didn’t seem to matter now.

Jack didn’t know how he found the strength to drag her back to the shelter. They collapsed in the shade, the smell of smoke all around them.

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	14. A Miracle & A Bargain

 

When the lookout first spotted the smoke in the distance Commodore James Norrington fought to damper the surge of rampant hope rising in his breast. Their search had yielded too many disappointments to date. It had been _so_ long. _Too_ long.

Elizabeth Swann had been missing for a full month.

It would be nothing short of a miracle to find her alive now.

And yet as they neared closer, and the tiny island came into view in his spyglass, that tiny flame within him soon blazed once more.

There was a huge fire upon the island, a fire that would have been quite unlikely to have started by itself.

The thought occurred to him that there could be pirates nearby, taking advantage of the remote location to careen their ship, but there was no ship in sight.

Just fire, and a column of smoke that smoldered over a hundred feet into the sky.

The Dauntless weighed anchor and the crew began readying the longboat. He and nine others would go ashore. More than enough to handle trouble, if there was any to be found. James always made an effort to keep a stalwart appearance for his men, it was his duty as captain of a Navy vessel, but he could hardly contain his excitement. The commodore twitched in his seat at the prow of the longboat, his fingers restlessly drumming upon the polished pommel of his rapier.

There were tracks upon the beach. Most were old, but some appeared fairly recent. Quietly they followed the trail in the direction of the fire, muskets at the ready. They did not walk far before the most arresting sight befell the troop of men.

Set back in the shade of the trees was a crudely constructed hut, thatched with palm fronds, a blinding array of seashells set out in patterns in the front. The cheerful façade starkly contrasted with the contents of the structure. Two people lay inside, sleeping. They were filthy and ragged, brown as leather, ravaged by the merciless Caribbean sun and hunger.

James’ heart pounded in his chest, feeling uncharacteristically lightheaded.

He would know that mane of golden hair anywhere.

It was Elizabeth.

And she was clasped firmly in the arms of that damnable pirate Jack Sparrow.

“Seize him!” ordered James with ill-concealed fury. Two marines wasted no time in raiding the little hut, dragging the pirate out and to his feet. Bewildered, Jack looked about with wide eyes. “Oi!” he protested, struggling against his captors. He was far too weak to have any hope of breaking away.

“Jack!”

It was the first time James had heard Elizabeth’s voice in a month. That sweet voice he cherished, that he thought he would never hear again. And to hear that name upon her lips filled with such reverence and concern, set forth within him a burbling black feeling: jealousy.

Elizabeth attempted to get out of the hut, but hardly had the energy to stand. “Milady, you’re safe now,” said James, holding out a hand to her.

She stared at his hand as one might regard a venomous snake, those copper colored eyes gone wild. For a brief moment it seemed the entire company went quiet, watching their commander and the woman he’d sought for so long.

Elizabeth raised her gaze to James’, taking in his hazel colored irises that danced with something she hardly recognized in him. She glanced to Jack clasped roughly between two redcoats, her bedraggled hero, and back to the man before her in his crisp uniform, white wig freshly curled around his ears.

Civilization had found them.

Though this would be the rescue she’d hoped for, she also realized in that instant, through all her pain and hunger and light headed delirium that the fight for Jack’s life was not over. One look into James Norrington’s eyes, and she knew her work still was not done.

And so she placed her shaking hand into James’, allowing him to pull her to her feet, accepting a supporting arm about her waist. “Why James. What a pleasant surprise,” she said, as though he’d dropped by unexpectedly for tea. It was painful to speak, her voice scratchy in her throat for lack of water.

Yet another wave of lightheadedness washed over James as he squeezed her hand in his. Even in her current state, dirty and mused in a threadbare chemise, Elizabeth Swann could bring him to his knees, at least mentally, with just a look.

“I apologize for not finding you sooner, Miss Swann,” he found himself saying, feeling quite stupefied in the process.

Elizabeth gave a dismissive wave, as though it was no grand thing one way or the other. “Better late than never, Commodore. Is that the Dauntless?”

James glanced to his ship sitting prettily in the distance, bobbing in the waves. “It is, my lady.”

“Splendid. We’ll be home in no time.” She wavered on her feet, and felt the Commodore’s grip tighten upon her. She looked across to meet Jack’s eyes, and the symbolism was lost on neither of them. A sinking feeling spread in her stomach, and she wished Jack could read her mind. _I will not forsake you_ , she thought, willing him to know.

For once, and perhaps wisely, Jack kept quiet.

She slid her arm through James’, as though they were to take a stroll through Hyde Park, and not across the scalding hot sands to the longboat that would deliver them back to civilization. “Shall we?”

“Of course. To the boats!” James ordered, and Elizabeth flinched for the rough way the redcoats dragged Jack forward. She could not bite her tongue.

“Have a care, if you please, gentlemen,” she called with all her remaining strength. “That man has kept me alive all this time, I will have you know. He deserves your utmost civility.”

 _He deserves to be sainted_ , she thought, but thought better of voicing _that_ aloud to the good Commodore. His face was quite red enough as it was.

The marines adjusted their hold upon Jack slightly, no longer intentionally hurting him, though certainly not gentle. “Come along, you,” they instructed gruffly.

The troop’s progress across the sand paused, the marine’s staring with wonder at something upon the sand. Elizabeth craned her neck to see what had the forward most men pointing and exclaiming.

“What’s going on?” demanded James.

“Turtles, sir!” exclaimed one man, whose name Elizabeth thought might be Murdoch. “Lil’ wee ones!”

A laugh that sounded like a sob tore from between Elizabeth’s lips. She slipped out of James’ grasp, pushing to the front to see.

Dozens of baby turtles, just like their behemoth mother in miniature, pushed themselves towards the crashing waves. Their little flippers worked furiously to propel themselves across the sand. Still laughing, her heart filled with wonder, Elizabeth fell to her knees, picking one up. It paused momentarily in its struggling to look upon her with a sage expression, its diminutive mouth curled up in a smile. Gently she put it down, and pushed to her feet. She didn’t know where she found the strength, but she staggered to Jack, throwing her arms around his neck, laughing and crying all at the same time. “They survived!” she exclaimed between hiccups. “We all survived!”

The marines were so surprised that they actually released the pirate, leaving the ragged pair to embrace on the beach. The troop watched the marooners, all perfectly bewildered by the Governor’s daughter’s behavior.

“There, there, luv,” soothed Jack, patting her back. “That’s right, everyone’s surviving. Like a storybook ending, eh? There, there.”

Jack pulled Elizabeth close, burying his face in her hair, savoring her softness and her scent. This would be the last time he ever held her in his arms. Of that he was certain. For when he looked up from Elizabeth’s boney shoulder he met the Commodore’s stare, and read his death in James Norrington’s furious green eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Upon boarding the Dauntless James immediately set to barking orders. “Take Miss Swann to my cabin. Bring blankets, food, and water. Tell cook to kill a chicken immediately. She needs proper sustenance.”

The thought of hot broth and savory moist chicken meat between her teeth immediately caused Elizabeth to salivate. A midshipman, a young lad by the name of Carver who stood tall as her shoulder, came forth with a blanket. He placed it about her shoulders, leading her gently towards the companionway. “This way, Miss.”

She was terribly weak. She didn’t know how she was still standing, and if she didn’t eat something soon she felt certain she really would fall over and die. And yet she still found the strength to turn from the midshipman, protesting, “Captain Sparrow also requires food and water.” If James threw him in the brig without rations she knew Jack would soon succumb, and the thought filled her with the most unbearable dread.

Again James felt that wretched roil of jealousy in his gut, black and thick as tar, at hearing the way Elizabeth said the pirate’s name. _Captain Sparrow_. Indeed.

For a man who strove all his life towards excellence, James had never been the _most_ of anything. He was the middle son of five boys, and had never been the smartest, the tallest, the most handsome, the most loved. He was constantly overshadowed in his career by men with richer fathers or better luck. He lived his life according to the rules but it had never gotten him anywhere in life except farther in debt. Just _once_ , in Elizabeth, in beautiful, well-born, intelligent, lively Elizabeth, he thought he had managed to achieve _the best_ of something. A _fine_ woman. A fine wife. What more could he want?

He remembered the way she had looked upon this pirate on the dock, the day James asked her to marry him. It was the way she was looking at Jack now, in this very instant. As though Jack was something precious and admired and deserving of preservation.

It was the way she was _supposed_ to look at _him_ , Commodore James Norrington.

James thought about Elizabeth being on this island with the pirate, _alone_ , for a whole _month._ It positively filled his bones with a seething anger and jealousy. It made James want to erase the pirate from existence. He was not a man who usually killed in cold blood, but he had been directed to eradicate pirates from these waters. Jack Sparrow most certainly was a pirate.

“Captain Sparrow?” asked James, nodding to his men. The marines released Jack from their grasp, pushing him to the deck. Jack fell like a sack of stones, unable to muster much energy to catch himself. Usually he was very good at talking himself out of a bad situation, and yet this time nothing came to him.

He was so _tired._

Elizabeth was safe now, and he was exhausted _,_ so weak he could hardly move.

 _Here it comes_ he thought. _At long last._

Really, he never thought he’d live _this_ long. He’d cheated death so many times.

“I don’t recall a Captain Sparrow,” said James, looking over the crumpled pirate at his feet. “I believe we found Miss Swann on this godforsaken island all alone. Isn’t that right, men?”

The men gave an agreeable _hurrah_ in unison. “Hang ‘em,” said one.

“Throw ‘em over,” said another. “Shouldn’t ‘ave even brought ‘em aboard.”

Jack winced as a polished black boot found its way into his ribcage, and the world began to fade slowly down a tunnel when another boot found his head. _Lovely. Stellar examples of good ol’ fashioned English bravery, the lot o’ ye._

Vaguely he was aware of Elizabeth crying out.

_Don’t cry, Lizzy. S’alright. Ol’ Jack’s just going to have a little rest._

“You can’t be serious,” protested Elizabeth, rushing to confront James. She lost her balance, nearly barreling headlong into the Commodore. “James, no! Stop this, at once! You can’t! This is immoral and…illegal!”

James caught her with two hands upon her shoulders. In a lower voice not meant for the men’s ears, he said, “It is what’s best for the sake of your reputation, Miss Swann. Much better to leave this dirty pirate out of the equation, I assure you.”

“Hang my reputation!” she shouted, her fiery temper getting the better of her. “He’s a good man!”

“Hear that, men? She says hang him!” said James, a surprisingly cruel light glinting in his green eyes, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Aye!” shouted the crew, fetching a line and fashioning a noose.

“Give ‘er thirteen good turns, eh Gilly!”

“Throw this over the yardarm!” shouted another, and a deckhand scrambled up to toss the rope. The crew was eager for some excitement. They’d been sailing around for what felt like an eternity without seeing a bit of action. Hanging a notorious pirate seemed like a triumphant way to start the morning. It would make for an excellent story, at any rate, when they got back to Port Royal.

Jack was vaguely aware of something scratchy looping around his throat, and cinching tight.

Elizabeth shook her head, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. Had they survived so much just to end it like this? “You can’t do this!” she protested, gripping the lapels of James’ coat. “This is wrong! He saved my life!” She tried to go to Jack, but the Commodore prevented her.

She was too weak. She couldn’t fight him. She could hardly even speak.

With Elizabeth clasped in his arms, this woman he coveted to have as his own, a sudden idea unfurled in James’ mind. A sneaky little whisper, a wicked little laugh echoed in the back of his head. _She could be yours after all_ it seemed to say. _If you have the courage to take her._

A long finger hooked under her chin, turning her tear filled gaze up to meet the Commodore’s. “Perhaps I could be merciful,” he said quietly, in a tone meant only for her ears. “If I were to make it a wedding present?”

Elizabeth gasped.

And she thought Jack was the pirate?

That James would even _think_ to force her into such a trade offended her every sensibility. And yet she didn’t have time to be offended. _Jack_ didn’t have time for such silly things. Heart pounding, she quickly answered, “We will need to discuss exact terms. During which you will release him, and treat him well. Food. Water. Immediately.”

Slowly James nodded, fighting not to grin like a fool.

“Belay that!” he ordered, and the men who had been ready to hoist upon the line and hang the pirate paused, looking to the Commodore with confusion.

“Sir?”

“Let him down.” James waved at the rope dismissively. “Take that off.”

Jack inhaled a rasping breath as the rope was removed from his throat. He opened one eye, to see Lizzy standing in the Commodore’s arms.

Was he in Hell?

“Take him to the brig,” ordered the Commodore. “See that he is brought food and water.”

“Aye, Commodore.”

Elizabeth watched as a barely conscious Jack was hauled off towards the hold. He would live. For now, they both would live.

Now, she could rest.

The world began to spin away as finally she began to lose consciousness. For the second time in James’ presence, she fainted dead away. James scooped her into his arms, and the Commodore carried her towards his cabin.


	15. Down Payment

 

Elizabeth watched candlelight glitter upon the facets of her cut crystal goblet, certain she must be living in a dream world. The remnants of a hearty meal lay scattered about the table. She and James had shared a proper Captain’s dinner, a full spread of sundries. Guiltily she filled her belly, thinking of Jack all the while.

After waking from her faint a day ago she had eaten, and drank, and then slept in the Commodore’s soft feather bed for hours. When she rose she felt as though she had come back from the grave. Immediately she’d asked after Jack, and was assured by the young midshipman that the pirate was well, though she was not allowed to see him.

Elizabeth had even been afforded the extreme luxury of a steaming hot bath. Elizabeth reckoned the Commodore thought the risk of running out of fresh water a small price to pay to not have to smell her hard-won marooner’s perfume. They would be back in Jamaica in the morning, if all went well.

James watched her from across the table with a barely concealed hunger in his eyes. She thought herself quite the little fool. He had always behaved as such a gentleman before in her presence, and yet she’d always known that he was a military man. A warrior. A hunter of the water, as surely as any pirate. A predator lurked behind James Norrington’s pleasant façade.

She did not fear him, yet now a veil had been lifted from her eyes. She felt she had a better idea of what he was truly capable of to achieve his goals.

Yet in kind, she also felt she knew her own self better, after a month on that island with Jack. She knew that she was stronger than anyone had ever dared acknowledge, and she knew she would stop at nothing to see that Jack Sparrow’s life was saved.

James told her of capturing the Black Pearl and its crew of pirates who could not die, who were at that moment confined in the cells in the fort of Port Royal. Hector Barbossa refused to reveal the heading for the Isle de Muerte. William Turner had been saved in one piece, and was back in the blacksmith’s shop banging away at his projects.

This was all very interesting, but Elizabeth knew the subject the Commodore truly burned to discuss. As the cabin boys cleared the dishes James instructed that that would be all, ensuring they would not be disturbed.

A slight thrill coursed through Elizabeth’s veins as the door closed behind them, leaving she and the Commodore completely alone. There was fear. Not for herself, per se, but for the consequences should she not be successful in negotiating her goal. And she realized, there was also anticipation for the battle ahead. She realized she enjoyed matching wits with pirates and would-be fiancés.

The fact that she considered herself promised to Jack Sparrow already remained quite under wraps. She’d had the sense to hide her death’s head ring, such a beautiful and ghastly bauble. Her left hand felt alarmingly light and naked without it.

Refreshing her wine glass, James presented the opening feint. “So tell me, Elizabeth. Why exactly do you care so much for the fate of the pirate in our brig?”

“I owe him my life, James. Several times over.”

James raised an eyebrow, a small smirk pulling the corner of his mouth as he filled his own goblet. “Starting with the mango tree? Your father told me about that.”

Inwardly Elizabeth bristled. And yet Jack’s life rested in the palm of James’ hand, and for this reason Elizabeth quelled her too quick temper. It was perhaps her greatest fault.

“I don’t know why an act of kindness and valor towards a child is contemptible.”

“Because he was probably looking up your skirts the whole time. He seems the sort.”

Elizabeth thought of how kind Jack had been that day. How he’d believed in her, and told her she could be the sum total of her own efforts. Not just a weak woman, like everyone else would have her believe.

She thought about what Jack had told her of the Yin and the Yang, and how man and woman were made to balance each other. Not for one to be submissive to the other. She remembered that he told her she had her own power. That she was significant, and not just something pretty for men to look at.

Elizabeth drew strength from these memories, knowing that she needed her every wit now. James looked upon her as though he just might like to eat her up, and it sent a chill down her spine.

Funny, how before she never would have guessed the Commodore had it in him.

She settled for answering, “He was very kind to a scared child.”

“Indeed. But you’re not a child anymore, Elizabeth.”

The question burned in his eyes, and Elizabeth wondered if he would be so bold as to come right out and say it. She smiled a little, just imagining the scandalized expression on his face, if she would ask outright, _are you curious as to whether I fornicated with the pirate Jack Sparrow?_

The truth probably would have made the good Commodore sputter and blush.

And then promptly order Jack executed.

“I am not,” she agreed. “Though, I will have you know Captain Sparrow treated me with nothing but respect.”

James still appeared skeptical. He took a sip of wine, and contemplated the pattern of the cut crystal.

 _Christ_ , how he wanted this woman. Even half starved, sun-baked, and in a gown that had obviously not been made for her, her beauty took his breath away. He wanted Elizabeth with a passion he had never known before in himself. Shoving down this mad burning in his breast whenever she was near, appearing the perfect gentleman who was not imagining the most sensual acts involving her person beneath his, sometimes caused him to shake and utter the stupidest three syllable sentences when in her presence. It was a small wonder he was able to conduct himself now. To calm himself he tried to think of their exchange as a military maneuver, plotting his next move as though he would plan a battle.

For this reason his words came across as frigid, even though he was burning up inside. “Brokering a marriage, Elizabeth, is like every other business deal. Both parties want to be certain of the quality of the goods being exchanged.”

Elizabeth’s stomach turned for the way James spoke of their possible nuptials, like a commercial transaction. She thought of Jack, and how he had whispered in her hair of the Greeks’ belief in souls that were torn in two at the beginning of creation, and sometimes these souls are so fortunate as to find each other again. In that moment her heart positively _ached_ for Jack. For his fey smile and his uncommon understanding of the world. It sounded like a much happier place, the way he described it, and how ironic it was that a _pirate_ would believe it so.

Elizabeth looked James in the eye, and she sensed him wilting just a _little._ “You think me sullied goods, James?” she asked, in a tone as pleasant as that she would use to ask of the weather.

“You’ve been alone on an island with a notorious pirate for a month, Elizabeth. It stands to question.”

“Why would I lie? You would know the truth eventually.”

“Perhaps, though sooner would be better than later. When we return to Port Royal I should be interested to know the results of a…medical examination.”

Immediately Elizabeth stiffened in her chair, fury flashing in her eyes. He would propose she be prodded like a horse before an auction? “Perhaps you would like to check my teeth as well?”

James averted his eyes, suddenly unable to meet Elizabeth’s gaze. “I am certain they are sharp indeed, my lady.”

Elizabeth inhaled deeply, and watched as James’ eyes strayed to the bodice of her dress, before quickly returning to her face.

She could hear Jack’s voice in her mind. _Desire tis a double edged sword, luv._ She had always known that James fancied her, but after her experiences on the island she certainly had a much better understanding of the way a man desires a woman. She wondered if the tightly laced Commodore, so proper in his immaculate uniform and wig, could somehow be undone. She wondered if she held the power to seduce this powerful man, and thus hold some of her own control over him. For Jack, she was willing to try.

Slowly, Elizabeth stood from her chair, making her way round the table. James watched her fingertips glide lightly over the soft tablecloth, and his eyes followed as she caressed the neckline of her gown, seemingly absently. More heat bloomed low in his belly, and suddenly his neck cloth seemed unbearably tight about his throat.

“So it’s proof you want, my dear Commodore, before I can call you my beloved fiancé?”

James watched her near closer, until her skirts brushed against his legs. Suddenly his throat went very dry. He cleared his throat, to no avail. His words utterly failed him, she stood _so_ near.

The corners of Elizabeth’s mouth turned up slightly as she realized the poor man was dumbstruck, and all she’d done was come to stand by him. “Would you really prefer that incompetent lecher Doctor Reed’s pudgy hands on your bride-to-be, when you could investigate for yourself?”

“I’m not certain I take your meaning, Elizabeth,” James answered, fidgeting in his chair. The fact was he took her meaning _exactly,_ and the thought made him feel uncomfortably _elated._

“I think you do.” Lifting her skirts, Elizabeth straddled James’ lap, her thighs almost _unbearably_ warm against his. Immediately James straightened in his chair, as though something had bit him. But he did not protest or push her off, and Elizabeth watched him with interest, able to observe every nuance of his handsome face from so close.

She did find him handsome, in a way that was almost _boring_ after being so close to Jack’s exotic masculine beauty. James was the perfect ideal of a dashing English gentleman, and she was finding she by far preferred a swarthy rogue.

“Elizabeth…this is hardly proper,” said James, though not _quite_ like he meant it. His eyes raked over her form, up and down in an endless circuit, as though he could hardly believe this was real.

Her knowing smile widened just a little, even as deep inside she churned with uneasiness. Handsome or not, James was not the man she wanted most. The man she loved was locked in a cell below their feet. And to free him she knew she would do whatever was necessary.

In a way, she mused, all her training to be a lady had led her to this moment. She had been taught how to always put on a pleasant façade, and never reveal what she really felt inside. Who knew that she had been conditioning herself for battle all along?

“Perhaps not, but…it is fun, isn’t it?” she teased, caressing the line of his clean shaven jaw with one long finger.

Tentatively James’ hands travelled to her waist. She had always been svelte, but now she was so terribly thin. “We shall have to fatten you up again,” he found himself saying, and then immediately shut his mouth, clearly embarrassed to have uttered such a familiarity.

Elizabeth canted her head, half her hair spilling over her shoulder. “Was I ever fat?” she teased, knowing all too well the answer. Her waistline was the envy of all the girls in Port Royal. Yet she felt a small triumph in that he seemed to be warming up to her game.

“No,” he sighed. “You were—are—enchanting,” he admitted.

As she traced the contours of his lips James thought his heart might flutter right out of his chest.

Truth be told, James did not have terribly much experience with women. He’d never been one to carouse in the upscale brothels on shore leave like many of his fellow officers. Before he’d always been quite content to spend his evening with a book, or perhaps take in a bit of music. But now he wished he perhaps had a little more experience with a lady’s charms, because this particular female had succeeded in turning his usually sharp mind to warm mush.

As though knowing any other woman could have possibly prepared him for the likes of Elizabeth Swann, he scoffed at himself. She was a gem of incomparable beauty. And her mouth, that fine plump appendage he had admired on numerous occasions with less than pure thoughts, was nearing towards his.

She spoke just above his lips, her words barely a whisper. “You will convince my father to give Jack Sparrow a full pardon, James.”

James leaned towards her mouth, hardly registering what she had said, until Elizabeth pulled back, looking him in the eye. “You can’t be serious,” he protested, offended by the very idea.

Elizabeth smiled, and finally pressed her lips to his, catching him off guard, and subsequently causing him to melt like chocolate on a hot day against her. “Of course I am serious,” she assured him sweetly, pulling back just a little. James gaped like a fish out of water, his gaze travelling between her eyes and her lips in equal turn. “And, you will recommend he be given letters of marque.”

Jack would be free, and able to continue doing what he loved best. Legally.

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s absolutely possible. My father has the power to do practically anything he wants in Jamaica. With the endorsement of Commodore James Norrington, why…there are no limits to what can be passed.”

“But the King— ”

“Will be overjoyed to have brought an English subject back into the fold, when Jack brings us all back a heap of Spanish treasure from his next privateering expedition.”

The mention of treasure caused James to sharpen, just a bit. As Commodore he would certainly receive a cut of any such prize taken by a privateer. A cut that could be very useful to a man in as much debt as James had managed to accumulate. Perhaps a chest or two of gold could even be skimmed off the top directly. It was the least he deserved for all he had done, after all…

James regarded her for a long moment, until finally he spoke. “So this is your price, Elizabeth?”

With a knowing smile and an uneasy feeling churning in her veins, Elizabeth took James’ hand, guiding his long fingers to slide under skirt, along the svelte expanse of her thigh. His righteousness faded to desire, his breath coming quick as she guided him higher and higher, to a place he had dreamed of touching more often than he could count on fingers and toes combined. “Do as I ask,” she said softly, “And you can have me, James.”

At the apex of her thigh she let go of his hand, allowing him to explore as he wished. His hands were large and elegant, long fingered and rather soft for a man who spent his life at sea. A gentleman sailor. He lived his life giving orders from the quarterdeck, and did not touch the ropes. And though his touch was not unpleasant, it still stung like a dagger to the heart that it was not Jack’s calloused sea dog’s hands upon her.

 _I’m dong this for him,_ she reminded herself. Perhaps Jack would not have approved of her method, but sadly it was the only one left to her. Back in society, seduction was her sharpest weapon, and James Norrington was ripe for the slaughter.

The pad of James’ thumb brushed the petals of her sex, ever so gently. Elizabeth gasped, a hairline frown appearing on her brow, before she quashed the outward display of emotion. She wasn’t sure if it had been inspired by surprise, reluctance, or…enjoyment?

 _No_ , she told herself. _I will not enjoy this_.

Either way, in that moment James was too far gone to notice.

Despite her determination to be a martyr, her body, treacherous vessel of flesh, seemed to have other ideas. She felt herself slowly igniting in response to James’ touch. It was nothing compared to the wildfire burn Jack could set ablaze within her, with nary but a look, but…

Again she gasped as James slipped a single finger inside her, gently probing. She was so soft, moist, tight and almost unbearably hot, and that lightheaded feeling returned to James. He did not get far before he felt a barrier of flesh blocking his further exploration. The Commodore groaned with desire and relief.

He wasn’t sure what he would have done, had that telltale marker of her maidenhood not been in place. Despite their deal, he wasn’t sure he could have brought himself to care if the pirate had swived her or not, if in the end she was to be _his._

Out of curiosity James pressed harder against that thin layer of skin, winning a cry of surprised pain from the woman who straddled his lap, her hands clenching upon his shoulders. Immediately he retreated, though there was a new glimmer in his green eyes. He did not relish the thought of hurting her, but _God_ how he wanted to be this woman’s first. He wanted to obliterate all traces of the girl she had been, to brand her as _his_ with his body inside hers.

James kissed her neck as he continued to trace lazy circles upon her most intimate area, sending sparks through her body. “What’s to keep me from ruining you myself?” he asked against her skin, a playful edge in his voice that she hardly recognized. “No one will believe it wasn’t the pirate. You’ll have no choice but to marry me.”

Anger curled in the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach, but she kept her temper in check. With hands on his cheeks she turned James’ face up to hers, the sharp tips of her nails just barely digging into his skin, just a _hint_ of threat. She spoke above his lips, the heat of her mouth sending waves of desire through him. Already he was hard as iron, straining against the ties of his breeches. “If you think I would submit to you simply not to face ruination, James Norrington, you have _sorely_ misjudged me.”

Slowly she began to retreat from his lap, as a fisherman will tug on a line to tease a fish, daring it to bite.

He feared she absolutely meant those words. He knew how stubborn she could be, and how little she truly cared for the opinions of others.

James Norrington took the bait hook line and sinker, quickly pulling her closer with hands on her buttocks, gripping her hard enough that she was certain there would be bruises in the morning. Having come so close, he would not see his long coveted prize snatched from the table.

For a long moment they locked gazes, caught in an impasse of wills. Elizabeth lifted her chin in a silent _what will it be?_

“Give yourself to me now,” he finally said. “And you shall have what you ask for.”

He could not wait. God help him, but he could not wait for this enchantress of a woman any longer. He always prided himself on his patience as a tactician, but Elizabeth had succeeded in rendering him completely undone.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. She had thought such things could at least be postponed until after a wedding. Better yet, an alternative solution found, after Jack was freed and let loose upon the seas again with letters of marque.

“Now?” Her indignation was not entirely feigned, though a protest of _that’s hardly proper_ seemed moot.

“ _Now_ ,” he answered. “Consider it a down payment on our bargain. And, you will come to visit me in my rooms in Port Royal, before we are married. Grant me that, and you shall have your pardon and your letters. I will see to it. Otherwise…your pirate captain will hang at Gallows Point, his corpse on display in a gibbet for every passing ship to see for years to come. That too I will promise you.”

With a trembling finger Elizabeth traced the defined line of his jaw, down his throat, to the outline of his pristine white neck cloth. It was a little damp. He too was nervous. Yet, she found she believed what he promised her. She believed it, because of the way he wanted her.

She kissed him, closing her eyes so that she would not have to look at him, though there was no pretending he was Jack. The two men were as different as the sun and the moon. “Very well,” she whispered against his lips, and the words echoed in her soul like the sound of nails hammered into a coffin. “You have a deal, James Norrington.”

Suddenly James stood with her in his arms, and Elizabeth squealed with surprise, half expecting to be spilled upon the hard oak planks of the deck. His mouth crashed over hers, and vaguely she was aware of him walking towards his berth. He lay her down upon the soft mattress. 

“ _Elizabeth_ ,” he sighed, green eyes alight as he took in the sight of her in his bed. “Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” His hands shook as they went to unbutton his jacket and tunic, and unpin his neck cloth. Usually he would fold his garments with a care, but now they went flying to the floor.

She pressed her lips, remembering that nigh innocent brush of mouths behind a bougainvillea bush in the garden. It had been so different from his attentions now.

“Yes,” she answered, denying any further ruminations on the event. It had not been her _first_ kiss, though not a bad one. At the time she’d floated about with the memory, entertaining vague little notions of what it could mean for them, and wondering if he would do it again. Yet now that she knew what heights of desire a man, _a pirate,_ could invoke in her, the memory fell quite flat indeed.

“I have never forgotten the taste of you, since that day.” The memory of her plump soft lips upon his had driven the usually cool Commodore in circles, caused him to toss and turn in his bed with the thought of what _could_ be, if only she could be _his._

Divested of all trappings but his shirt and loosened breeches, James joined her upon the bed. She waited for him to offer to untie the lacings of the dress, but he simply lifted her skirts, settling between her thighs.

It was all happening so _fast_.

It was not at all what she’d imagined her first time with a man would be.

Jack had always been so patient, stoking her fire with kisses and bites and touch that scrambled her brain. He’d brought her to the point of _madness_ , before releasing her to that wild place of untamable oblivion.

She felt James place himself at her entrance, and knew she would have none of that. Though she was _here_ , it was almost as if James was in his own world entirely. He whispered in her hair, _I love you,_ but did not wait for her answer. He caressed her like she was a statue, uninterested in the way she reacted, only in that she was his to touch.

She thought of Jack and the way he had delighted in watching her sigh and squirm beneath his sun-browned hands, his dark eyes glittering with mischief and warmth.

When James drove himself inside her Elizabeth barely stifled a scream, biting her lip until she tasted blood, tears instantly springing forth. Little by little he pressed inside her, and it felt as though he tore her in two. She never _imagined_ such pain.

The moment he felt her hot sheath encasing his manhood, James went nearly _blind_ with pleasure, _mad_ with wanting.

 _So long_.

He’d wanted her for _so very long._ He could not stop himself from driving into her, again and again, helpless as an animal to carnal urge.

An eternity passed in an instant.

It was over before she hardly realized it had begun.

Utterly spent, James lay supine atop her, his body suddenly unbearably heavy upon hers.

“I can’t breathe,” she rasped, surprised by the sound of her own voice. She pushed at his shoulders, suddenly desperate for air.

Reluctantly he withdrew, rolling to her side. “Are you alright?”

She sat up stiffly, smoothing her skirts down over her thighs. She could feel the sticky warmth of his seed between her legs, and she would have given anything for another hot bath in that moment, to wash it all away. His touch. His scent. His brand upon her. The tightness of a sob clenched in her chest, but she kept hold of it with an iron control.

“I’m fine,” she answered coolly, smoothing her hair.

“You are so beautiful,” he sighed, utterly content beside her. “Come here.” He tugged upon her elbow, hoping to bring her down into his arms.

But suddenly she couldn’t abide the thought, no matter what deals they had made. She had held up her end, hadn’t she, she thought bitterly? “I should be getting back to my cabin,” she said. One of the lieutenant’s cabins had been vacated for her use. “It’s late.”

Though clearly James wanted to protest, there was a sharp note in her voice that quelled him. “Very well,” he agreed, befuddled.

It seemed he barely blinked before she had arranged herself and slipped out the door.

Immediately upon entering the privacy of her own cabin, Elizabeth expelled her dinner into the chamber pot by the berth. She wretched until there was nothing left, and only then did she allow the tears to fall. The cabin was little more than a closet with a berth and desk. With one step she was curled upon the lumpy mattress, and there she wept into the pillow until there were no more tears left to spill.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So…its getting a little twisted, eh? Bear with me, luvs. I apologize for the lull in posting, I’ve finally been getting back to going hard on my original project (See my profile if you’re interested).


	16. The Fairytale’s End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I want to thank everyone for all the favorites, kudos, and reviews! I apologize for the little hiatus, I was off promoting my original work. If you’re interested see my profile for details. I fully intend to see this through to the end, it just might take a little while to finish.  
> Cheers and enjoy! :)

_I move on like a sinner's prayer_   
_Letting go like a levee breaks_   
_Walk away as if I don't care_   
_Learn to shoulder my mistakes_   
_I'm built to fade like your favorite song_   
_Gettin' reckless when there's no need_   
_Laugh as your stories ramble on_   
_Break my heart, but it won't bleed_   
_My only friends are pirates_   
_That's just who I am_   
_I'm better as a memory than as your man_

_-Better As A Memory, Kenny Chesney  
_

* * *

 

Exhausted body and soul, Elizabeth tried to sleep, but her mind would give her no rest. Filled with anger and self-loathing, she tossed and turned in her berth until she could stand it no more. She would not rest until she laid eyes upon the man she truly loved and assured herself that he was well as the Commodore had promised. As the bells signaled the night progressed deep into the last watch she slipped from her cabin.

She found herself limping as she went, hunched over slightly from the soreness of her newly christened woman’s body. Bile rose in the back of her throat as she flashed back on the act with James, so quick and painful and devoid of any pleasure—she pushed the memory away, burying it deep. It didn’t matter. If Jack went free, none of it mattered.

It seemed Jack Sparrow could not sleep either, and he watched her approach with half-lidded eyes, his irises gleaming dark as polished mahogany beneath shadowed lids. He paid a fleeting glance to the guard who dozed not far from the cell before fixing his gaze upon Elizabeth, taking in her halting steps with a frown.

“Oh Lizzy girl,” he sighed in a hushed whisper, taking the fine-boned hand that reached through the bars for him. Gently he pressed lips to the back of her hand, and she could have wept for the tenderness in that one simple gesture. She knelt by the cell, resting her forehead against the cool metal. “What did he do to you?”

A harsh little laugh escaped her. “No worse than he’s done to you.” She studied his black eye and other bruises, knowing it wasn’t the half of his wounds at the hands of James’ marines.

“Are ye alright?”

Quickly she nodded, squeezing his hand hard in hers. She tried not to think of what had gone on in the Commodore’s private quarters, but to little avail. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes, but she did not allow them to fall. “I bought us time,” she finally whispered. “You will go free, Jack, when we return to Port Royal.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at hearing that, not believing it for a moment.

Sweet Elizabeth, this brilliant lass could still be naïve when she desperately wanted something, it seemed. Now they were back in society, where there were rules and rituals and classes—a society where Jack was no better than the scum at the bottom of the barrel.

He was a pirate, and Elizabeth was a lady.

His very existence now threatened her standing, and that of her father’s, the most powerful man in the Caribbean.

No matter what Norrington had promised her, no matter what price she’d paid, he did not believe he would go free of the Commodore’s own volition.

He told himself not to even allow a _sliver_ of hope to shine through.

This story would end with him at the end of a coarse rope, or shot by a firing squad, or something equally nasty and painful. He’d always known it would end like that, someday. He’d always been dancing on time bought from the Devil.

“I hope you didn’t pay anything too drastic on my account, Lizzy. You can’t trust the good Commodore. Not on this.”

She raised an imperious eyebrow, looking very tired and years older. “I only traded my hand in marriage, is all,” she huffed dryly.

Jack shook his head. “Don’t. Take it back. Call it off. I’m a dead man no matter what.”

That tricky little voice hissed inside _she’s our chance_ but for once Jack declined to listen. His honorable impulses always succeeded in getting him into the most trouble, and this time it would get him killed. It all seemed rather vague now, and he knew part of that was because he’d felt like a walking dead man already for days. Perhaps once the meal he’d eaten like a ravening wolf settled in and he began to actually feel human once more, the fear would set in.

With the dogged stubbornness of youth Elizabeth insisted, “I will get you out of here.”

“I can’t let ye sell yer soul on my account. I was a marked man long before we even met.”

And then an even viler thought occurred to him. She _should_ marry the Commodore. Despite the Commodore’s cruel proclivity for hanging pirates, he actually believed that ol’ Norry would be decent to Elizabeth. God help him, but James seemed to truly be in love with the girl. Maybe he would never really understand her, but James _would_ dote on her. She would have a good life, filled with luxury. Maybe someday she would be sitting among a brood of babies about her and think back on this like a distant dream she’d once had. The thought hurt, even as he knew it would be best for her.

Jack squeezed her hand and withdrew from her grasp, winning a puzzled look from his lady. She gripped the bars, peering in at him. With tear-filled eyes Elizabeth sniffed, “You can’t give up now. You’re _Captain Jack Sparrow._ ”

Suddenly Jack was so _tired_ of that ridiculous name. That useless legend of a name. What good had it ever really done anyone, least of all him?

“Milady, all I really am is a _tired_ old man,” he ground out, gritting his teeth against the pain his words caused him. “And at current, I am a shackled, tired old man, thrown behind a daunting amount of iron bars. There is nothing I can do for you or me and I suggest you have the good sense to take the easy life the Commodore is offering you.”

Elizabeth could hardly believe her ears. This was _not_ the indomitable Jack she knew. Unable to meet his hard gaze, she averted her eyes to the lock, considering it. It might take her a while, but she felt reasonably certain she could crack it. If she timed it right, just as they were arriving in port, Jack could jump ship and get to another boat…

Watching the wheels turning in that quick mind of hers, Jack growled, “Don’t you _dare_. Do ye see the guard sleeping not but a pace away? He catches you and it’s the gallows for sure for the both of us. They hang women for piracy too, ye know. Your mar-i-age will be right off.”

“I don’t _want_ to marry James,” she spat, fighting the urge to stamp her foot. She felt helpless as a child in that moment. Once more she was the little girl stranded in the mango tree, with no one to catch her, just the sea breeze shaking the branches.

Shaking her head, she looked to her pirate captain imploringly. “ _Why_ are you saying these things, Jack?” She held up the finger that bore his skull head ring, the rose cut diamonds glinting in the lantern light. “I made a promise on that island. I _meant_ that promise. Didn’t you?”

Jack’s eyes widened to saucers at the sight of that ring. “ _Please_ don’t tell me you’ve been flashing that around?”

“I’m not a fool,” she snapped back. “I hid it. I just put it back on because I felt adrift without it.” She looked down at the ring, and back to Jack, remembering his proposal by firelight. Maybe it had seemed like a game at the time, but as time went on…it became very real. She whispered, “Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it, Jack?”

He’d meant it.

Bloody hell, but he’d meant _every_ word of that oath. That offer for her hand. His heart positively _broke_ for the hurt in her voice. He would have given anything to be able to reach out and take her in his arms, to offer comfort as he’d been so free to do back on the island. But he felt certain as his name was Jack that this was the best course of action for Lizzy, even if it killed him inside.

The truth was that Jack was no angel. As a younger man he had in fact ruined women before for his own ends. Never anyone as high-born as Elizabeth, not that that made it any less reprehensible. He’d told himself at the time that they’d known what they were getting themselves into. He’d plied them with kisses and promises all in good fun. Eventually they always left, and no love lost, to become tavern wenches or whores. He’d been a bit of excitement in the otherwise inevitable straight path of their lives.

He couldn’t do that to Lizzy. Not _her_. She was so lofty and good and so bloody honorable, even if she was also crafty and had a devilish sense of humor—he could hardly fathom the dichotomy of her right then. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age, but this girl mattered. Mattered in a way that no one had to him in a _very_ long time. And so he would be cruel, even if only to really be kind.

He could feel his heart breaking even more with every word that left his mouth. He nearly choked on the words, and they came out like a snarl. “What the devil would I do with a wife? I’m a _pirate_ you silly chit.”

Elizabeth flinched as though he’d hit her, and his insides felt like they were being run through a meat grinder. Christ, he was a son-of-a-bitch, but he told himself it was for the better. It really was for the better, for her.

“Jack?” She was in complete denial, unable to process these words as he flung them at her. She wondered if she were not stuck in a nightmare. That she would wake up and this would all be some horrible dream. She would wake up and be in Jack’s arms in their shelter, the lapping of the waves at their door lulling them as they lounged.

Jack leaned forward to rest his forehead against the bars, his own eyes as twin burning bonfires. They seemed fathomless at that moment. Deep and endless as a bottomless pit. “Dearie, we had a lovely little holiday on the island. A trip to the sea does wonders for the ol’ constitution, eh? And I thank you _kindly_ for the mercies you bestowed upon my humble person. Your generosity is paralleled only by your beauty. But now it’s time to stop playin’ pirates and castaways. This is the end of the fairytale, luv. In the end of the fairytale, the princess always marries the prince. _Not_ the _pirate_.”

Her very soul rebelled at his words, and for the sudden look of fury on her face Jack was quite glad there were bars between them. _That’s right, darlin’. Get angry. Anger will see you through. It’s despair that will kill ye slowly._

“Not always,” she spat defiantly.

“Always,” he growled back, willing her to listen to reason. He didn’t know how long he could keep up this façade. If she didn’t run off soon in tears he would give it all up. Confess that he didn’t mean a word of it. He would break right here, and admit that terrifying truth that always hovered on the tip of his tongue when he was around her. _I love you._ Couldn’t the silly chit see?

“Maid Marion married Robin Hood.”

Jack chuckled bitterly. She was relentless, and he was absolutely losing his nerve. “I ain’t no Robin Hood, Miss Swann. Never gave a single piece o’ shiny to the poor, or to anyone else. I’m a selfish old salty dog, and that is the truth of it. You’d best be gettin’ back to your Commodore. The bed will be getting cold by now.”

With the dexterity of a master conjurer he reached out to pluck the heavy gold ring from her finger, replacing it upon his own pinky. She stared aghast, open mouthed, tears finally spilling from her eyes.

Elizabeth’s stomach lurched, and she resisted the urge to vomit again right there. Jack knew exactly what she’d traded, she realized. Not just her hand. Her virtue. Everything of value she had as a woman. And now he was tossing her away like a thing he’d used and grown tired of.

She straightened, assuming the ramrod straight posture that all her training as a lady ingrained in her. She couldn’t fathom where she found the strength. All she really wanted to do was curl up on the floor and cry, or go down on her knees and beg the pirate to take it all back. Lifting her chin, she regained her feet. “Then I suppose there really is nothing more to say on the matter,” she whispered, her voice deceptively cool. “Goodbye, Captain Sparrow.”

“Goodbye, Miss Swann.”

He watched her retreat up the companionway in a flurry of skirts, and he knew what was left of his old scarred heart went with her. “Fair winds, Lizzy luv,” he sighed under his breath. Feeling positively wretched, he leaned back against the bars, and wished like hell for a bottle of rum to take him into oblivion. Real life was simply too _vivid_ for his liking. It hurt. Anytime he’d ever dared dip his toe in those waters, it always ended in _hurt._

 


	17. En Garde

# Chapter 17: En Garde

 

Like a wraith Elizabeth slipped through the shadowy streets of Port Royal, easily making her way undetected. Her feet moved over the cobbled streets without a sound, and she found it only fitting it was so easy for her to move about unseen. She was only a ghost of the woman she’d once been anyway, a hollow thing without a heart.

Jack Sparrow took _that_ cumbersome appendage with him the morning he slipped out of Port Royal upon his precious Pearl, with nary a word of thanks or even goodbye. She’d simply woken one morning to find her lofty view of the sparkling blue harbor bereft of that familiar dark ship bobbing on the waves.

It was hard to say who had been more surprised by her father actually agreeing to issue the notorious pirate Letters of Marque. Elizabeth, James, or Jack himself.

Yet, it was the season for the Spanish treasure galleons to begin their journey from the New World to Spain, and Governor Weatherby Swann was certainly aware of it. The sugar plantations were beginning to prosper, but a little influx of good old fashioned gold escudos never hurt any provincial economy. Of course, Governor Swann would take his cut directly, as would the Commodore. Neither were men Elizabeth had ever thought of as _greedy_ , yet she supposed it was a rare man indeed who was immune to the call of treasure.

Before engaging the Pearl captained by Barbossa, Commodore Norrington had managed to regain the stolen Royal Navy vessel crewed by Sparrow’s ragtag bunch of scallywags. Said scallywags were imprisoned beside Barbossa’s undead cohorts in the Fort. All awaited sentencing, part of the delay being the little problem of how exactly does one manage to execute a crew of pirates who cannot die? Lucky for Jack’s former crew, including Gibbs, Marti, Cotton and Parrot, and Ana Maria, they were sprung from the cells to serve under Captain Jack before the problem could be pondered further.

Elizabeth would have liked to see the look on Barbossa’s face when he learned Jack had been handed back the Captaincy of the Pearl by none other than the Governor of Jamaica. She also would have liked to see the look upon Jack’s face once finally reunited with his truest love, the Pearl. She’d imagined the joy shining in his dark eyes as his hands caressed the helm for the first time in ten years. That thought made her happy, even if the rest made her feel positively wretched.

Had she really been so naïve as to believe the pirate had actually _cared_ for her? What a little fool she’d been. Two months after their return and Jack’s subsequent departure, it all seemed like a distant dream now. Had any of it every really happened? Did Jack really hold her beneath the roof they’d built on the beach and whisper words of love into her hair, his ringed fingers learning every curve of her body? Had she really been so stupid as to believe _any_ of it?

A distant dream indeed.

Like a cat-burglar Elizabeth scaled the trellis outside James Norrington’s apartments, entering his bedchamber through the balcony doors. It was a familiar act now, so much that she probably could have done it with her eyes closed. She kept to her bargain, keeping a secret rendez-vous with James once a week, a few hours under the cover of darkness during which she let him take his pleasure of her.

They both knew the only reason Elizabeth held the bargain was the slim chance that Jack would actually return with gold and into the fold of society. If the pirate-turned-privateer eluded the agents Norrington placed aboard the Pearl and managed to slip out from the Crown’s grasp once more, James would have no further hold upon her. Perhaps there would be a scandal, but that alone wouldn’t be enough to force Elizabeth to marry him. She cared even less for the whims of society now than she had before she’d been taken prisoner by pirates and shown what lay beyond the gossamer veil of her pampered life.

Quite aware of this delicate balance of their power, James had attempted to strong arm Elizabeth into a quick wedding the moment they set foot back in Port Royal. Elizabeth, however, put him off, claiming she wanted time to plan a large and sumptuous event, the likes of which she’d always dreamed of as a little girl. A lite and an excuse, but a good one at least in her father’s eyes.

Annoyed but helpless to her whim, James agreed. He could hardly reveal the reasons for his insistence, and the Commodore thought the only turn that could act in his favor would be if Elizabeth became pregnant with his child. However, the Governor’s daughter thwarted that too, dutifully drinking the foul concoctions her friend and confidant in the kitchen staff, Annie, provided from one of the folk healers in the African community. Thus far, it seemed to work.

Absently Elizabeth removed her overcoat and hat, placing the garments upon a chair. She wore a dark man’s shirt beneath, as well as black breeches and boots. Unladylike, perhaps, but effective for sneaking about. Norrington would soon see her undressed anyway.

As she slipped out of her footwear a voice cut through the shadows of the room. “You’re late.”

Elizabeth jumped, whirling to face the far corner of the room. James sat in the shadows, a glass of dark liquid hanging loosely from his long fingers. He caught her by surprise, for usually he was already in the bed, eagerly awaiting her. Until now their little meetings had taken place like clockwork. James would have her undressed by half past midnight, and be snoring softly beside her by 12:40, sated but leaving his lady unsatisfied.

“The servants were up later than usual tonight. I had to wait for the house to go dark,” she quickly lied. In truth she’d simply dragged her feet a bit, pausing for a time to watch the moonlit sea. When she looked to the water a part of her cried out for Jack to sail back to her, and a part of her hoped he would stay gone.

“Indeed?” James stood from his chair. He wore a lawn shirt and the breeches of his uniform, his legs bare of stockings. In truth she found him rather handsome when he was like this. A bit undone, without that ridiculous wig or the trappings of his uniform. “Are you sure you did not get a little lost along the way? Perhaps you made a visit to the blacksmith’s shop?”

Realizing she was caught, yet not surprised James took pains to have her movements followed, she raised herself to her full height. She was nearly as tall as James, a fact he seemed to have mixed feelings about. “Not tonight,” she answered coolly.

At times she would make a visit to Will’s shop, though not always in the dead of night. She was grateful that her lifelong friend had survived their ordeal with the pirates, and he was the only person on the island she felt she could really talk to.

“So you do not deny that you see him.”

“Will is my friend and has been since we were children. There is no reason I should not see him.”

James let loose a huff that was nearly a growl, slamming his glass down on a marble side table. “The reason you should not see him is because you are to be my wife, and it is _improper_.”

Elizabeth raised a single dark brow in response, clearly skeptical. “ _You_ are going to lecture _me_ on propriety amidst this arrangement between us?”

“It seems someone should.”

“I believe you have forgotten, James, that I am not yours to lord over _just yet._ ”

Norrington narrowed his eyes. She perceived that he might be a little drunk, just enough to loosen his usually stoic demeanor, though he did not sway on his feet. “My man tells me the boy is teaching you fencing.”

It was true that Will had begun to teach her how to truly handle a sword. Perhaps before they had played with little bouts, but now Elizabeth took her studies _quite_ seriously. Enough so that sometimes she, or Will, carried bruises the next day.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“A woman shouldn’t know how to defend herself?”

“It is a man’s dominion to defend his lady.” Elizabeth’s lips twisted as she held in a laugh. She could only deride the Commodore so far in his own chambers.

“That’s easy for a man to say. But when the pirates took me from my home I was practically helpless, and I never want to feel that way again, James.”

A wry ghost of a smile curled James’ lips. “I cannot imagine you ever being truly helpless, Elizabeth.” This comment unexpectedly warmed her heart, and she looked to the ground so he could not see how it pleased her. Then his mood darkened once more as another thought occurred to him. “What makes you think you will have further dealings with pirates, milady?” He could hardly hide the suspicion from his voice now.

Elizabeth frowned. “We have done our best to make an outpost of civilization here, James, but out there…” She waved towards the ocean, that great black body of water that surrounded their little Caribbean island. “It is a wild place. And sometimes the things out there come to knock at our door. I understand that now.”

The Commodore’s brow creased. She realized that he considered it his job to tame the seas surrounding Jamaica, and perhaps took her observation as a detriment to his capabilities. For once, she did not mean it as such. “Well then, show me what the blacksmith has taught you.” She watched as James produced two practice foils from a cabinet of swords. She was a little grateful to see they bore protective buttons upon the ends, with James in such a mood.

“As you wish.”

James lit a candle with his tinderbox, and went on to light several more. Elizabeth blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the light. There was a sharp gleam in the Commodore’s green eyes, not unlike some of the swords in the cabinet across the room. It was a side of himself he’d never dared show her before, and for the first time in James’ presence a small frisson of fear chilled her spine. What exactly had she gotten herself into?

She watched as he lowered himself into a stance, his foil extended before him, his free arm drawn back behind his head. His form was perfect, and she had no doubt his technique would also be flawless. She was probably in for a proper trouncing. “En garde, my love.”

Elizabeth’s spine stiffened for the familiarity.

This was not love.

She had known love once, on a tiny little spit of an island in the middle of a topaz sea.

Love was kind, and generous. Love was tenderness and joy between two people who could not live without the other, even if fleetingly. Love was pure manna from heaven.

This?

This was _war._

She fell into her own stance across from him, and the pair began. Elizabeth parried James’ attacks, adeptly twisting away from his thrusts and countering with a skill that clearly took the Commodore off guard. To her delight she found James’ style to be quite stiff, and several times she backed him into a corner with clever footwork. He seemed to only think in terms of moving in straight lines, where Will had taught her to consider attacks and defense in a more triangular fashion. An old Spaniard living on the outskirts of town had taught the orphaned Will the art of _la destreza_ , a Spanish style of fencing whose philosophy involved a great deal of geometry as well as the idea that a cut is just as useful as a thrust.

Elizabeth feinted, drawing James into a well-laid trap. With a triumphant cry she lunged, thrusting at the unguarded quarter of his chest. The flexible sword bent as she made contact just above his heart. “ _Touché_.”

Her triumphant smile faded as she beheld the dark light in James’ eyes. A small _yip_ of fear escaped her when he grasped her foil by its dull blade, wrenching it from her grasp. Within a moment he grabbed her up, his strong hands rough upon her. Instinctively she struggled, and when she wriggled a little bit free the Commodore abandoned his course for the bed, instead taking her to the rug upon the floor. He pinned her with his weight upon her, his mouth pressing a punishing kiss to hers. He tasted of brandy.

A hand tangled in her hair held her _just this side_ of too hard. Yet she found her heart skittering in her chest for a reason quite other than fear when he smiled down at her. She realized this was James being _playful_ and she could hardly wrap her mind around it.

“Well? What now, Elizabeth?”

She wriggled against him, but his weight effectively pinned her down. “I fear my lessons have not covered this.”

The Commodore scoffed. “Well, at least there is that. Perhaps I won’t have to kill the blacksmith after all.”

“That would hardly be fair. It was my idea, after all.”

James snorted with laughter. “I have no doubt about that.”

Elizabeth watched as James plucked free the buttons of her shirt one by one. This new James, this slightly drunk and far less proper James, was a creature she didn’t know or know how to counter. Worse yet, it was possible that she liked this James _better_. She suppressed a sigh when he planted an open mouthed kiss to her chest, his mouth trailing to her breast.

She realized it was the first time he’d ever really touched her like _this._ Teasing, rather than taking her in a mad frenzy, as though she was a treasure he feared would disappear from his grasp if he looked away for too long.

“I love you, Elizabeth,” he spoke against her skin. “And I want to make you happy. Am I really so bad?”

This was a trail of conversation she did _not_ expect to traverse. “What makes you think…”

She didn’t even know what to call it, without telling the truth.

“You never smile around me anymore. I miss it. I realize that perhaps I… _caught_ you in a rather unorthodox fashion. But in time I hope you will see…that everything I do, I do for you.”

Such as the very large manse he was constructing on top of the hill that would rival the Governor’s mansion in opulence once it was finished. He wanted it to be a wedding gift for his new bride. He wanted her to have all the comforts of which she was accustomed to. It put him a great deal further into debt, of course, but he felt helpless to the necessity of the matter.

Even after Lord Weatherby gave James permission to ask for Elizabeth’s hand, James still had not expected her to accept. The young man in him who had never finished better than second place in anything assumed that a creature such as her could never truly belong to him. Now that fate had played into his hands, he dared not tempt it by displeasing her. He had not yet given up on the hope that she may still love him, _someday_.

How ironic that what the Commodore did not know, could not even _conceive,_ was that Elizabeth had been happier on a desert island living in a thatch hut than she ever had been in the hulking manse that was her father’s house.

Elizabeth did not know how to respond to such a statement, feeling a curl of anger unfurl in her belly. So as not to say something foolish, she bit her lip, looking to the ceiling as James impatiently pulled at the lacings of her breeches. Soon he had them down her thighs, and mounted her with little preamble. Elizabeth winced as he thrust inside her, trying not to think of Jack, of the way he would have worked her into a moist and pliable frenzy before even considering taking her.

“Where do you go?” asked James, turning her eyes back to his with a palm on her cheek. “Where do you go when I make love to you?”

Elizabeth pressed her lips. She did not dare instruct James as to how this could be more pleasurable for her, because it would imply she possessed more knowledge than she was supposed to. And she certainly couldn’t confess that her mind wandered to Jack, and subsequently tried _not_ to wander to Jack, as Norrington used her. Yet in this mood it seemed James would not let her slide by with silence.

She settled for that age old excuse. “It’s different for me.”

James frowned, stilling inside her. “Because you don’t love me, I suppose.”

James was truly one of the smartest men she knew, and yet when it came to women, he was such a fool. That righteous anger kindled further in her belly. It was a familiar feeling, and she knew she was about to say something that would feel very good, and perhaps be very stupid to admit. “You _hurt_ me. You have no patience.”

The Commodore frowned, formulating replies which all turned to ash on his tongue. Until finally he found the courage to invite, “Then show me what you like. Teach me how not to hurt you.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, reluctant, even as her body ached with a resounding _yes!_ to take him up on his offer. A part of her wanted her physical interaction with James to remain an empty thing. Her enjoyment was something she wished to reserve for…someone else, the damned scallywag. And yet desire whispered in her ear, _Jack’s not here now, and he may never come back._

Suddenly infuriated by it all, her own confinement, Jack’s cruelty, and James’ ineptitude, Elizabeth roughly pushed James onto his back. He let her this time, acquiescent to her lead. She looked down upon him with a wild look in her eye, and James felt simultaneous titillation with a tinge of fear, the way one would feel caution when cornering a wild animal.

Taking a shaky breath, Elizabeth raked her gaze over the Commodore. He was not actually so difficult to look at. Tall and handsome, with the trim figure of a fit young man in his prime. She positively _hated_ Jack in that moment. Hated that this man in front of her, a man who by any sane thought would be an absolute prize worth keeping, was not _enough_ for her anymore. Jack had taken everything she’d ever known and set it all on fire, teaching her to find the greatest beauty in life on the edge of absolute ruin. _Bloody pirate._

She was not proud of it, but when she descended upon James it was Jack who she envisioned taking into her mouth, circling the smooth tip of his cock with the point of her tongue. It was the thought of eyes dark as coal and an infuriating mouth so sensual it had no business on a man’s face that made her wet between her thighs. The fantasy was not perfect; for she could easily take James completely into herself, her fingers easily encircling the girth of his base. Jack…proved a bit more of a challenge in that area.

James let loose a cry that bordered on _pain_. It vaguely occurred to him that he should protest this unladylike activity, something only the doxies on the wharf were supposed to know, and yet his mind went _numb_ with pleasure. He’d never felt anything so _good_ as Elizabeth’s full lips around his shaft, working him up and down _._ He scrabbled for self-control, fighting not to come in her mouth with the first few thrusts. Once she had him hard and slick with moisture Elizabeth mounted James without a word, sliding back onto his erection with a smooth motion of her hips.

Elizabeth glanced down at the man below her, his hazel-green eyes filled with wonder and desire. She could tell she had him completely flummoxed, and though she felt certain she would pay for it later—she couldn’t stop now.

This part was rather new to her, but she closed her eyes and let her imagination lead, running her hands up her ribcage to palm her own breasts. Imagining they were a different pair of sun browned and rope-roughed hands, she pinched her nipples lightly, sending a lightning bolt of pleasure through to her loins. Jack had delighted in watching her touch herself, whispering encouragement in her ear as he fondled her breasts, and she imagined James would be no different. As she rode him Elizabeth licked two fingers, reaching down to rub her own slick sex, that little nub of flesh that seemed to hold the very key to the gates of paradise.

James watched this golden goddess above him, letting her ride him, conquer him, control him. _She_ was taking _him_ this time, there was not a doubt in his mind. And yet he could not fathom protesting as she invoked the most incredible pleasure his body had ever known. This was _infathomably_ different from every time he’d ever led their bedroom rendez-vous. The difference, he now realized, was that she was enjoying herself too. It was utterly _intoxicating._

As she neared her peak Elizabeth rode James harder, finding that rubbing a place deep inside her over and over with his hard shaft caused the most incredible sensations to grip her womb. In her minds eyes she could see Jack before her, inside her, his wiry arms holding her close, his ringed fingers tangled in her hair. She could hear his voice in her ear, that sultry growl, gravelly and filled with desire. He would say _Come for me, luv. Let me set you free._ She wasn’t sure if it was the physical act or that thought that pushed her over the edge, and as she came with a scream the clenching of her hot walls around James took him too. His cries mixed with hers as he spilled himself inside her, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

As Elizabeth collapsed upon James’ chest her fantasy dissolved, hard reality returning with the sound of James’ voice. “How…”

 _Did you know how to do that_ hung unsaid in the air.

God help him, but James decided he didn’t really want to know.

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	18. All Things Shiny

Two days later the Black Pearl glided back into the harbor of Port Royal, her hold full to bursting with Spanish gold.

Actually overtaking a Spanish treasure galleon was a prize so rare it was actually more legend than truth, but Captain Jack Sparrow had somehow managed. A certain compass that points to what a man wants most helped his endeavors _a bit,_ though at times the blasted thing kept trying to steer him back to Port Royal, back to the arms of a certain rum-burning fair haired lady with the soul of a pirate.. _._ An opportunistic storm that separated the _Sagrada Maria_ from her security detail, the Man O’ Wars that usually accompanied the treasure ships, was also a lucky stroke. And of course, for the first time in a decade, Jack captained a ship that was actually _capable_ of taking on a galleon. The stars aligned, and Jack took the gold with surprisingly little bloodshed. The Spanish sailors had not been paid in over a year, and didn’t exactly fancy dying for chests of gold they would never see an escudo of.

Jack found it amusing that after returning to Port Royal with such a prize, it was the ability to walk down the street in broad daylight that seemed the most surreal part of the whole ordeal. Not only did he no longer need to sneak, indeed he was lauded as a _hero._ Just as in the old days when he’d sailed with Henry Morgan. He was surprised by how _good_ it felt to no longer be the lone wolf living on the outskirts, but a part of the pack once more. To have a _place_ in society, rather than be the outsider. Furthermore, to be the toast of the town?

It bordered on insanity, but he supposed that the nuances of life in civilization had never really been based on _logic._ It was more like a troop of monkeys intent on imitating each other, and following a set of rules set down by one very crazy chief monkey a long _long_ time ago, for what reason none of them knew.

Perhaps he enjoyed it a _little_. To have a gent nod in acknowledgement as he passed by, or a troupe of ladies giggle and flutter their fans in his direction from across the street whispering _There he is! CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow_ …well, it felt very _good._

It felt good, until a particular open carriage passed by filled with three well-dressed ladies, one the sight of which caused Jack’s heart to do a somersault in his chest before dropping to his stomach. Miss Elizabeth Swann’s caramel colored eyes met his, and it felt like being struck by a bolt of lightning—he found himself rendered utterly incapable of movement as the carriage wheeled by. Her friends giggled from behind their fans while Elizabeth remained a rock between them, her face unreadable as stone.

Suddenly as though breaking from a spell, the Governor’s daughter straightened, lifting her chin in that infuriatingly haughty way. Some little quip fell from those perfect lips that caused her companions to erupt in laughter, shooting coquettish glances Jack’s way.

It seemed as though the world should stand still after the fated pair found each other again, but the carriage just kept on rolling down the cobbled street, the citizens of Port Royal milling about as though no great thing had just occurred.

Jack felt the crazy urge to chase the carriage down, push the driver from the seat and make off with the lot of them. Only a pedestrian attempting to get around him with a loud “ _Pardon_ me, sir!” brought Jack back to the real world, and with a grunted apology he stood aside.

After taking the gold from the galleon Jack had very much considered absconding with the treasure and the Pearl, never to be heard from again in the Caribbean. He could have gone back to India and lived like a Pasha, or anywhere else for that matter. And yet, he’d returned to the fold of Mother England, because _unfinished business_ beckoned to him. Jack had told himself that _unfinished business_ had to do with the betrayer Hector Barbossa still in a cell in Fort Charles, and an even larger horde of heathen gold just waiting for the taking _without_ His Majesty, the Governor, and the Commodore taking their share off the top…

But Jack had always had a weakness for all things shiny.

 _She ain’t for you, mate_ he tried to tell himself, but that little voice inside countered with certainty, _she’s the_ only _one for you._

When he’d been certain he would die at the end of a noose it had been easy to push her into the Commodore’s arms, telling himself it was the only noble thing he would ever do. Yet since his return Jack had _seen_ Lizzy on James Norrington’s arm, and she’d looked utterly _miserable._

Watching that head of burnished curls disappear into the melee of High Street…he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from doing something terribly foolish before this was all over with.


	19. At A Traitor's Table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello everyone! As usual, thank you so very much for the follows, favorites, kudos, and reviews! Hope you’re enjoying the story. This might be my last entry for a while with the holidays coming up and all, so you’re getting your Christmas present early. :) Happy Holidays!

# Chapter 19: At A Traitor’s Table

 

Now that Captain Jack Sparrow had returned it seemed Elizabeth simply could not _escape_ him. He and his treasure horde made way into conversations at every turn. Every morning she woke to the sight of the Pearl in the harbor. She saw him on the street, and one day she’d heard his voice with her father’s drifting from Weatherby’s study. Immediately she had turned on her heel and _fled—_ in her own home! The pirate-turned-privateer was _everywhere_ , and now she even found herself seated across from him at Captain Henry Morgan’s dinner table.

Jack listened to his old partner’s boisterous fabrication, his chin cupped in his palm. Out the corner of her eye Elizabeth studied him, taking in the subtle changes that transformed the wild pirate into some _semblance_ of a gentleman. Not so many charms dangled in his hair now, and the once wild locks had somehow been tamed by a comb. What wasn’t matted in dreadlocks held a great deal of natural curl, and her treacherous fingers longed to reach out and run through them.

Elizabeth clenched her fist on the table, scolding herself for the thought.

He wore a fresh black frock coat with silver buttons, over an embroidered tunic, lace peeking out at his cuffs. Yes, the pirate was certainly _cleaner_ now, and she chortled inwardly at the thought of how _black_ his bathwater must have been the first time he’d partaken. His beard had been trimmed, the beaded braids gone. Jack no longer lined his eyes with that dark kohl, and one was left not with the impression of someone fiercely exotic, but of how _utterly_ handsome the damned man was.

It simply wasn’t _fair._

Elizabeth’s heart flipped in her chest when Jack glanced over in her direction, a knowing little smile tugging the corner of that beautiful mouth, as though he could feel her watching him.

But the last straw came in the form of a wink—the bloody nerve!

Squeezing the napkin in her lap as though it was the tanned, muscular column of his throat…Elizabeth squared her jaw and turned her attention back to their host.

Indeed, Henry Morgan was the last man whose table Elizabeth would have expected to find Jack, after hearing the story of his betrayal. It made her wonder just what Jack was up to, and perhaps if maybe he hadn’t returned to Port Royal just to deliver a pile of gold.

He certainly hadn’t returned for _her._

She hadn’t allowed herself to even dare hope.

The first time almost killed her.

Captain Morgan sat at the head of his table like a king holding court, gesticulating emphatically with a silver goblet full of wine in hand. Once upon a time Elizabeth understood he’d been quite something, but the ravages of time, alcoholism, and tropical disease had taken their toll. Now he was bloated and red in the face, and his spittle travelled a great length of the table as he loudly recited the tales of his glory days.

Morgan was telling a story of how he had so cleverly escaped a Spanish port after having sacked the city, and was trapped inside by a Spanish man o’ war. Morgan claimed he’d had the brilliant idea of sending a dummy ship over to the warship disguised with fabrications in the shape of men made of flotsam, loaded to the gills with black powder. Before the Spanish realized the ship was actually unmanned it exploded, taking the man o’ war with it to the deep, clearing the path for Morgan’s escape.

In fact the clever trick had all been Jack’s idea, and indignantly Elizabeth felt a sudden impulse to remind Morgan so.

She opened her mouth, but before speech could escape she received a rather emphatic kick from under the table. Wide eyed, she turned to find Jack shaking his head minutely at her, his ringed finger wagging subtly behind his glass. She understood the signal well enough, but didn’t understand _why_ Jack let this man tell such fictions in Jack’s very _presence_.

Then the horror of what she’d been about to do dawned on her.

Had she really been about to _defend_ this scallywag who broke her heart so cleanly in two?

Suddenly even more annoyed, Elizabeth promptly kicked Jack back. _Hard._

The pirate winced, but declined to make a sound. Narrowing his eyes, he paid her an annoyed look, before turning his attention back to their host. And yet she could not help but notice the smallest of smiles curling Jack’s full lips, an infuriating little smirk.

In spite of herself, the smallest little fire kindled in her belly, a warmth that spread through her insides, straight to her heart.

 _Oh, Lizzy,_ she scolded herself. _You are a bloody fool._

 

* * *

 

After dinner the ladies went to the parlor and the men to Morgan’s study for a smoke and brandy. Elizabeth idly listened to the prattle offered by Mary Morgan and the other female guests. Mrs. Morgan spoke of the delivery of fashion babies just in from London via Paris, small dolls outfitted with examples of the season’s new fashions. Colonists were doomed by means of sheer distance to always be quite a bit behind London, and the women discussed the latest hemlines, seams, and embellishments with utmost excitement.

Elizabeth, however, felt as though she might expel her dinner onto the Turkish carpet if she were to hear one more single word of it. When the discussion turned to her, _what dresses did she plan to have made_ , Elizabeth imagined the looks of horror on her companions faces if she were to truly speak her mind.

_I should like a sturdy pair of boots, a new tricorn, and a crimson red silk sash in which to tuck my pistol. Ah, and a blood-red coat with silver death’s head buttons would do nicely. It would match a ring I once had, you know._

Perhaps she _would_ have that ring back, and the pirate’s finger with it, she mused peevishly. Rather than a token of love, she would wear it as a trophy.

Instead she drew on the woman she’d once been, the former fashion plate of the island, the girl everyone looked to. She gave an insipid answer of silks and brocades and necklines and lace which seemed to greatly satisfy the crowd. As they fell back into their conversation Elizabeth slipped out to catch the air upon a balcony. It faced a garden down below, and Elizabeth eyed a trellis with envy, wishing she could just spirit herself away.

She could have seen herself home, but her father would have been beside himself if she were to do such a thing. Weatherby did not know of her prowess for nocturnal rambling, and it was best to keep it that way.

To clear her mind she took a deep breath, lifting her face to the warm island breeze coming off the sea. Even after living so long in this tropical paradise she was not immune to the magic in that salt-tinged wind. It felt like a kiss from the sea upon her skin, gentle and inviting.

“Strange, innit?”

With a gasp Elizabeth whirled to find Jack leaning upon the far baluster of the balcony, his arms and ankles crossed. There was a glitter in his black eyes like stars in the velvety night. Her heart positively fell to her feet, and she scrambled to pick it back up again. She would _not_ make a fool of herself again, she resolved. She would not let _Jack_ make a fool of _her_.

Not this time.

“What is?” she asked with more venom than she meant to, raising her chin high.

“Bein’ back among people.”

She realized then that not only had Jack changed his appearance and his hygienic habits, but also his diction. Only now, with her, did the rough speech of the docks re-enter his words.

A broken little titter escaped her before she could stop it, and her hands flew to cover her mouth. “I can’t _stand_ them,” she confessed, and then frowned for her admission.

What business was it of Jack’s, anyway, whether or not she was happy?

None. Absolutely _none_.

Jack chuckled a little, that light dancing in his eyes.

Annoyed that he seemed so pleased, Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying your freedom, I see.”

The pirate-cum-privateer raised a dark eyebrow. “If you choose to call it _freedom_.”

After knowing true liberty as a buccaneer, Jack considered the leash of a King’s privateer rather lackluster.

There was no enthusiasm in his voice for his new place in society, and Elizabeth’s annoyance deepened further still. He’d insinuated that he knew the full price that she’d paid for his freedom, but perhaps he did not understand completely.

Or maybe he understood all too well, and simply didn’t care.

The latter thought hurt her heart like a musket ball to the chest.

She wanted to scream at him, but instead she asked coolly, “Being captain of the Pearl again is not to your liking?”

Jack dipped his head, unable to hide a small smile. “It is, milady. She is as fine a vessel now as when I last knew her. Perhaps I don’t fancy my new gilded collar, but it is an improvement over a noose, and the Pearl is something I owe ye a great boon for.”

His sudden burst of articulate gratitude sowed uncertainty in her belly, torn between anger and—everything else she felt for Jack Sparrow, damn the scoundrel.

“You can thank my father,” she offered, averting her eyes. She could not help but feel pleasure at seeing his contentment, and somehow that simultaneously galled her to no end.

A low laugh escaped Jack, a sound filled with disbelief. “We both know who brokered that deal, darlin’. No need t’be humble with me. So that begs the question: what would Elizabeth Swann like in return?”

Elizabeth took a long breath, Jack’s dark gaze upon her raising every hair on her body. The night was cool for Jamaica, but suddenly the air seemed close and unbearably hot.

 _You_ her wicked heart whispered. _All I want is you._

Her head, however, would have none of it.

Humbly she answered, her eyes averted, “You saved my life, Jack. Several times. The least I could do was return the favor once.”

Clicking his tongue, Jack shook his head, plucking a yellow and white frangipani bloom from a tree nearby. Its delicate petals curled in on themselves, perfect in their symmetry. Nature had a way of aligning herself that way. People, however, had more trouble. “That won’t do, luv. I’ll think of something.”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

Her speech hitched at the end, when Jack lifted the small blossom to tuck it behind her ear, deftly nestling it within her coiffured curls. Involuntarily she closed her eyes, waylaid by the feel of him standing so near once more. She felt a deft finger beneath her chin, tilting her face towards his. For a moment she knew absolute _terror_ that he would try to kiss her, _here,_ with the flock of cackling society hens just through the French doors and her father not but a few rooms away.

“Don’t,” she scolded, shoving at his chest. Yet she only succeeded in sending herself off balance in the ridiculous shoes she wore. She tottered towards the railing, and for a few moments felt certain she would fall right off the balcony.

But a strong arm wrapped about her waist, pulling her back from the edge of the abyss. “Easy, Miss Swann. Ye have a penchant for falling from high places, don’t ye?”

In that moment she could have _wept._ Jack’s arm around her felt like coming home, and it was all a _lie_. A terrible and tempting falsehood. She gripped the soft lapels of his fine black coat, and struggled with the urge to fall against his broad chest and let him murmur sweet things in her hair, even if they were all silver little fibs.

Instead she straightened, releasing her death grip upon his clothing.

“How clumsy of me. You’d best unhand me now, _Captain_ Sparrow.”

Instead he smiled, a hint of gold showing. “I’d rather not.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, secretly glad. “What are you _doing_ here?” she hissed. “Dining with the man who betrayed you? Are you going to call on Hector Barbossa next?”

Jack retained that secret little smile, eyes glittering like onyx. “I actually thought I might.”

“You are up to something.”

“Me?”

She glared harder, to which his smile was impervious. In the end she sighed, shaking her head. “You never should have come back, Jack. You should have taken the Spanish gold and run. I never really thought you would intercept a galleon, you know. Just the _idea_ of it was enough to whet my father’s and Norrington’s greed to let you go.”

Only then did Jack’s expression fall, his handsome face suddenly turned solemn. “And leave you high and dry?”

She shook her head. This was _not_ the avenue she wished this conversation to turn down.

“You’ve already made your intentions towards me quite clear.”

Jack narrowed his eyes to black slits. “You thought the best approach would be to flash your new ring around and inform Daddy Dearest you intended to marry a pirate, then? I’m _sure_ that wouldn’t have ended with my neck in a noose.”

She squirmed against his grip upon her, but the pirate’s arm may as well been a band of iron. “Let _go_ of me.”

Only then did Jack begin to feel a glimmer of doubt. He’d known she would be mad, of course, but he’d expected a warmer welcome than _this._ A slap, perhaps, and then a torrid lock of lips to make up for it. Indeed, he’d dared hope for such a favor on this very balcony, tucked back in the shadows where their annoying dinner companions could not see. But there was not a trace of his sweet Lizzy of the Island, no laughter in her eyes, no warmth in her smile.

This was _Lady Elizabeth Swann_ , cold and infuriatingly polite.

Next he knew a stab of something rather _unfamiliar_ for Jack. It was hot and sickening, a curl of unbearable heat that coiled like a poisonous snake in his gut. Only after a few moments did he recognize this emotion: jealousy.

He knew—well, _suspected_ the price Elizabeth had paid for his freedom to the Commodore was more than just a promise of marriage. Yet he’d numbed himself to the reality of it until just now. _Now_ the thought of that lily-livered putz putting his soft hands upon _his_ Lizzy filled Jack with a rare blaze of jealousy.

Also, he knew _doubt._

What if Lizzy— _Elizabeth—_ preferred the refined Commodore James Norrington to Captain Jack after all?

All this filled the delivery of his next words with a bit more venom than he intended. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “Ol’ Norry keeps ye satisfied, then? That’s quite a house he’s buildin’ on the hill for ye. Set a date yet?”

It was _too_ much.

Elizabeth could have _killed_ him in that moment, her famous temper rising like a wildfire in her breast. She pounded upon his chest with a fist, and it was no ladylike beating of a butterfly’s wing. The Governor’s daughter had learned how to pack a punch. Jack grunted, catching the offending hand in his.

“That’s not _nice_ ,” he said, a hint of a growl in his words. In fact he’d been cut by a Spanish blade exactly where she’d hit him, and the wound had yet to heal completely. It throbbed now, and probably had torn open again.

“After the wretched things you said to me in the brig of the Dauntless you have _no right_ to tell _me_ what is and is not _nice,_ ” she hissed. “Now let go of me, or I _will_ scream.”

She would never know the strength it took to unwrap himself from her and back away, because this was not the time or place, and it wouldn’t do to have her bring Morgan’s household down upon them. By the wild look in her eyes, Jack surmised she wanted to do just that, though he would have been wrong about the exact reason.

What Jack wanted to do was bend her over his arm and kiss her _silly_. Still struggling with this urge, the pirate bowed, a ridiculously apt imitation of a courtly gesture. “As my lady wishes. Be seein’ ye, Miss Swann.” Over his shoulder he offered her a smile like the devil himself, gold glinting in the moonlight. Elizabeth fought to remain stoic, her hand clenching at her side as she wanted to press it over her heart, in an effort to keep the deuced thing from beating _right out_ of her chest.

Agile as a cat, Jack climbed the outcropping of the building to the next balcony, and disappeared back into the study where the men smoked and enjoyed a brandy and _manly talk._

 _This is going to take some doing_ thought Jack as his feet touched terra firma again. Luckily, the old buccaneer had an ace up his sleeve. The wound upon his chest ached, and he could feel the seeping warmth of blood beneath his clothes. This shirt would probably be ruined. No matter. He wouldn’t need immaculate clothing for this charade _much_ longer.

 _No good filthy pirate-turned-privateer scoundrel,_ Elizabeth hissed in her mind. Her hands were shaking, and not entirely from anger.

She hated Jack Sparrow.

 _Hated_ what he made her feel.

Hated that she still loved him with all her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The bit about Morgan and the exploding dummy ship is historical fact. I read about it in a book about Morgan called “Empire of Blue Water”. Great book, I very much recommend it! But when I read it, well, it just sounded like such a JACK thing to do… haha.


	20. Stolen Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Thank you everyone for your enthusiasm, follows, and reviews! You make my day! :) Hope everyone had a nice holiday! This next part got a little long (me? Write too much? Go figure…) so I am breaking it up into two parts. Happy Friday and enjoy!

 

_Elizabeth was aboard the Pearl._

_The great ship was engulfed by a soupy fog, so thick she could hardly see her hand in front of her._

_She was stuck in the rigging, climbing, climbing, but unable to move forward. Her arms and legs felt as though they were made of lead, unable to move._

_She had to reach something hanging above her head, but couldn’t, like Tantalus forever teased by the grapes._

_It was not grapes swinging overhead._

_With a heave she moved closer, finding herself face to face with a pair of well-worn boots that swayed with the rocking of the ship._

_She pulled._

_The body attached to the boots would not move. A rope strung over the yardarm held it fast._

_Again, she heaved closer, to find a face. A face she knew better than her own, a face she loved with all her heart._

_“Jack!”_

_His closed eyes would not stir, painted dark by kohl and the ominous shadows that enveloped the Pearl. Cold terror jetted through her, tears springing forth from her eyes._

_“Jack!” she insisted again, shaking him._

_There was a rope around his neck, rough and scratchy, biting into his skin. She reached for it, desperate to free him._

_The ship lurched, and his body swung away, out of her grasp, disappearing into the mist._

_“Jack!”_

_His voice echoed from the darkness._

“ _Lizzy darlin’. Lizzy love. Lizzy, wake up!”_

Elizabeth came to with a start, finding strong hands upon her, and arms she knew well. Without a thought she folded herself into that wiry body, inhaling deeply a scent of masculine spice and salted sea air. They weren’t on the Pearl, she reasoned through the mental fog in between dreams and waking. They were on the island. Everything else had just been a terrible dream.

“Oh Jack,” she sobbed into the bend of his neck, kissing the warm skin behind his ear.

“S’alright, luv. Just a dream.”

She relaxed in his arms, tears still streaming from her eyes, a painful tightness still clenching her chest, like an invisible fist that would not let go.

Elizabeth opened her eyes, to see the draperies of her bed, and a splash of moonlight cutting across the hardwood floor from the window.

This was decidedly _not_ the island.

With a gasp she straightened, tearing herself from Jack’s grasp. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, shoving him away.

The expression of the pirate in question creased with a hairline frown. “Thought I was comforting you, luv. Dream of me often?”

Elizabeth pressed long fingers to her throat, a chill coursing down her spine at the fragmental memory of that awful dream.

She visited with Jack every night in the land of dreams, some exquisitely sweet, and some soul-shattering. However, she would be _damned_ if she admitted it now.

Jack watched with amused chagrin as Elizabeth regained her defenses, that haughty chin jutting towards him like a threat. “How dare you—”

Her words were shunted by a single finger placed over her lips, Jack’s other hand mirroring the gesture upon his own. “Shh, luv. Don’t wake the sleeping house, if ye please,” he whispered.

She matched her volume to his, hissing back, “It would serve you right. And at any rate, if you’ve finally come to ruin me I fear you are too late.” She flung these words as a blade, wanting to hurt him the way he’d hurt her, and yet somehow regretting them as soon as they left her mouth.

Something hard glinted in Jack’s eyes, like moonlight off an obsidian blade.

“So that’s the way it is, then.”

With a huff Elizabeth looked away, unable to meet the intensity of his piercing dark gaze in that moment. “I’m a woman, Jack. It was the only weapon I had.”

In an instant Jack’s eyes softened, and he lifted a hand to cup her cheek. “I never would have asked that of you, luv. Not _that._ ”

“No. You were prepared to let them hang you instead. The great Captain Jack Sparrow, finally surrendered to fate.”

Jack swallowed hard, not enthused by the memory. In his defense, he had been terribly sick, starved to the brink of death.

And, in love.

All but the latter had passed now.

Elizabeth raised one angular dark brow, hoping her true love would not see through her mask of indifference. “I made my decision, Jack. It’s done.”

The implications of those last words tied Jack’s stomach up in knots. For a pirate he really wasn’t a violent man at heart, yet the thought of Norrington placing hands on Lizzy, _his Lizzy,_ made him want to wring the venerated Commodore’s lily white neck. Or perhaps a proper flogging at the main mast, or an introduction to the barnacled keel of the Pearl via a long rope about his ankles…

He’d had plenty of time to think on it. Plenty of time to attempt to rationalize it, and then bury it deep in a chest beneath the sand, never to be mentioned again. Yet now it still opened a raw wound over his heart.

She gasped as his hand trailed down her jaw, her chest, and the soft cotton lawn of her chemise, until it rested upon her belly. His palm was warm, his large hand spanning the cradle of her hips. Of their own accord her hands went to cover his, holding him to her. “Are ye with his child, then?”

He steeled himself for the answer, dreading it. For if it was yes, then perhaps she was right. A baby could change _everything_.

“No. I’ve seen to that.”

This both piqued his interest and filled Jack with alarm. “Really? How, might I ask?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, reluctant to expound. “A woman has her ways.”

“Aye, a woman does, but not a Lady.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “Where are ye getting such potions, Miss Swann?” The thought made his stomach twist a little inside. For some of the healers were quite knowledgeable in their concoctions, and some complete hacks. He remembered a doxy he’d known who had been poisoned, drinking such a supposed concoction.

“The cook. My friend. She knows a good healer.”

“Ah. I’m sure she’s _quite_ discreet.”

Elizabeth sighed, pressing her temple. She knew she should keep up a stony façade of indignation, but she found her energy quickly waning. She was tired. And Jack was _here._ So close, and all she really wanted to do was crawl back into his arms.

“Why have you come, Jack?” she asked quietly, feeling her venom wane.

For once, he answered truthfully, without guile.

“I had to see you.”

He waited, hoping she would admit she wanted to see him too.

But of course, she wouldn’t make it so easy. She probably wanted him to admit that the sight of her hit him like a ball to the chest, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to tell her anymore. Maybe if they were back of their island. That magical place where sweet truths fell so easily from his lips.

Here, back in society, the walls had been rebuilt.

Finally she answered, “And?”

_And I miss you._

_I need you._

“I thought we should…talk.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to raise an imperious eyebrow. She released his hand, pushing him away from her. “After the dreadful things you said to me in the brig? What more could there possibly be?”

“Luv…” he protested. Elizabeth, feeling quite like she was dying inside, shook her head. She made to scoot away from the pirate, to put some distance between her body and his. And she gasped when he grabbed her up, pulling her back into his arms. Arms that encircled her like bands of iron. “Wait.”

She attempted to keep him at bay with a hand on his chest, a hand that _burned_ when it touched the triangle of bare skin at his throat. Her heart positively _galloped_ in her chest, pounding so hard she suspected he could hear it.

“Unhand me,” she said, attempting _sangfroid_ and failing miserably.

“Yer tremblin’ luv.”

“There is a notorious pirate turned privateer in my bedchamber. Perhaps I’m afraid.”

“Bollocks. I’ve yet t’see the thing that truly scares Elizabeth Swann.”

This _thing_ between them scared her, she reckoned. This miserable state caught between love and loathing, fear and need. This _thing_ that left her elated in his company and utterly wretched without it.

Jack watched the thoughts race behind her coffee-colored eyes, and in the end he decided he could no longer stand it. With a hand upon her cheek he turned her face to him. She knew he intended to kiss her. She knew it very well, and knew she should _do something_ to stop him—but all she could say in the faintest whisper was, “ _No_.”

His voice came ragged in the dark, filled with need he couldn’t suppress anymore.

“No, _what_ , darlin’?”

She shook her head, helpless. She couldn’t _think_ with him so near.

“Just… _no,_ ” she sighed.

Jack made a sound deep in his chest, a mix of frustration and desire. Yet by a thread, he managed to hold himself in check. “No, you don’t want my kisses?” he asked, his lips touching her cheeks and brow and nose light as a feather. With each kiss she felt herself melting into him a little more, pulled to him as though caught in his undertow.

“ _No_ ,” she whimpered again. _Christ,_ but she was tired. Yet if she gave in—she would give him _everything,_ and have nothing left for herself. And _that_ surely would kill her.

He paid her a rogue smile, knowing she lied through her teeth. A hint of laughter returned to his eyes, an echo of the joy they’d once shared. “No, you don’t want the gift I brought you?” he whispered above her lips.

Elizabeth closed her eyes in surrender, enraptured by the warmth of him, waiting for his mouth to claim hers.

But the kiss did not come.

She opened her eyes slowly, to find Jack looking down upon her, that infuriating smile upon that ridiculously perfect mouth.

What business did a pirate have in possessing a mouth like that? It simply wasn’t fair.

Finally, she took the bait. “What gift?”

Jack chuckled, and the sound was like a balm for her soul. “The gift I brought just for you, all the way from the Straits of La Florida.”

Elizabeth huffed, annoyed. Hang his bloody gift. How dare he toy with her? “You can’t buy me, Jack,” she grumbled with more rancor than she truly felt.

“Nay, I know. But it seemed to me that a bit o’ thanks was in order.”

The Governor’s daughter pursed her lips with annoyance, yet he could see her curiosity piqued.

“So…you _do_ want it?”

 _This man will drive me to madness,_ she huffed inside. And she realized she would go, skipping along, smiling all the way.

“Probably not,” she sniffed.

“Ah, _probably._ Meaning ye at least want to see it to decide.”

She sat in her pool of soft covers and feather pillows, _drowning_ for the way he just sat there, watching her with impossibly ancient eyes. He gave the impression of being an impetuous scamp, but truly he was a master of patient timing.

At long last he drew a small velvet bag from his vest pocket, waving it invitingly. “Close your eyes, luv.”

“A dubious suggestion, from you.”

Despite her words, Jack noticed the corner of her mouth twitch, in just the faintest suggestion of a smile. Such a little thing, yet it was enough to lift his heart. Slowly, he could feel their old warmth returning, the walls they’d built of ice as a means of survival finally melting down. “Now, be a good girl. Go on.”

With an exaggerated sigh she did so.

“And hold out your hands.”

“Also a suspicious proposition.”

Jack smiled, agreeing, gold glinting in the moonlight. She lifted her elegant hand, palm up.

She heard the rustling of the bag, a tell-tale clicking, and the cool silky weight of the bauble in her palms. “Ye can look now.”

Slowly Elizabeth opened her eyes, to find a stunning triple strand of black pearls pooled in her palm. It bore a gold clasp with two tiny birds in flight upon it, their eyes and bodies set with small diamonds. Sparrows, she realized.

“Not quite long as your arm, but I dare say a bauble fit for a Queen.” In truth it had surely been meant for a member of Spanish royalty, before Jack had relieved that fated galleon of her treasures. This piece he had immediately claimed as part of his share, even as he wasn’t sure he would ever see his lady love again.

Instantly Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears, choking upon a sob.

It wasn’t quite the reaction he’d hoped for.

“Lizzy…” For a moment he was at a loss, unprepared for womanly tears.

“ _You remembered_ ,” she sniffled, clutching the pearls to her breast.

The pearls were extremely valuable, but in truth he could have brought her a coconut and achieved the same heart-wrenching yet soul-quenching result.

“Aye, of course I bloody remembered,” he said softly, wiping away her tears with the blade of his thumb, trying not to add a few of his own to the melee. “ _Please_ don’t cry.”

His petition had the opposite effect, even bigger tears rolling down her cheeks.

After all this time to have thought he no longer cared for her—that their love had been a lie—it was _too_ much. She’d put on a brave face, but now she simply couldn’t hold it in any more.

“I thought you didn’t care for me anymore,” she managed to get out between the spasms of tightness in her throat. “I thought that maybe it was all a lie, or a dream… _oh Jack._ ”

“What bollocks, luv. I said what I had to, but I’m…I’m sorry. ” Such words did not come easily to Jack’s lips.

He’d done what he thought was necessary, yet it seemed a meek excuse at best now. Rather than blubber with her he scooped her up into his arms, carrying her to the full-length glass mirror in the corner of the room. It was an extremely valuable piece of furniture, the only one on the island.

He lowered her to her bare feet, and with shiny eyes she watched him in the mirror, such a shadowed figure behind her own gilded form, her golden hair waving wild as a lion’s mane about her. With clever fingers he looped the pearls about her throat, clasping them deftly.

She shivered as his fingers lovingly caressed the side of her throat, and swept her unruly hair back over her shoulders. The cool nacre of the pearls against her skin somehow calmed her, like the kiss of an ocean breeze.

“There now,” he said, gentle hands lighting upon her narrow shoulders. “Beautiful. I’ve never seen a lovelier woman than you, Lizzy. Never have. Never will.”

She’d never been prone to fainting, excepting that once upon the ramparts which she blamed on the corset. Yet finally standing here with Jack, alone in her room, her knees threatened to buckle out from under her. She leaned back against him, comforted by his steady warmth behind her. His arms went about her waist, his chin resting upon her shoulder. In that moment she felt perfectly engulfed by him, comforted by his large body wrapped around hers.

Perhaps all the rest _had_ simply been a long nightmare. Perhaps none of it mattered anymore.

“What now, Jack?”

For a long moment he did not move, until finally the corner of his mouth pulled in a grim smile.

“Was afraid ye would ask that.”

With a heavy sigh she closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the weight in his gaze upon her in their reflection.

What a pair they made. A pirate and a lady.

How funny, that more often than not she really felt like a pirate.

And more often than not, Jack behaved like a gentleman.

She craned her neck towards him, as a flower follows the track of the sun. His hands rested upon her hips, fitted so perfectly into the dip of her curves, warm and strong upon her. He could pull her to pieces with those hands, and yet always he touched her with such care.

For once, she thought she might like to be torn asunder by this man. Shattered to pieces, and born anew. To be touched to the point of exquisite madness, in the way she knew only he could.

“Jack?”

“Mmm?”

“If you don’t kiss me now I _will_ scream.”

Strangely, Jack hadn’t really slipped into her room that night to seduce Elizabeth. Steal a kiss?

Maybe.

Well…of course.

 _Pirate_.

But mostly, he’d ducked the night watch and climbed the trellis with the intention of making amends, haunted by that broken look in her beautiful eyes. Yet now, with her lithe young body in his arms, his name on her lips in _that_ voice—husky with desire, rich as the finest cognac, eternal as the crashing of the waves—he knew if he kissed her _now_ not a thing in the world could stop him from finally making her his.

He’d never wanted anything more than he wanted this woman in his arms, and yet that little voice inside him still insisted that he should let her go. That their worlds were too different, and if he led her down this path she would regret it someday.

As she turned to him, her open mouth hovering just above his, that righteous voice faded like a cry for help amidst the howling of a storm. As though to make good on her threat Elizabeth inhaled deeply, but her only sound came as a moan as his mouth found hers.

Jack kissed her as a drowning man searches for air, needy, desperate for one last breath. Elizabeth felt herself opening to him as his tongue swept inside her, utterly melting against his touch.

_One more taste._

One more could never be enough.

 


	21. Sweet Siren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As usual, I can’t thank everyone enough for your overwhelming enthusiasm for this story! You make me do happy dances. Haha. Really, it happens. Thank you so much for reading, because I’m having a blast writing it. Thought I’d better post this toute suite before I get in trouble for starting another story while leaving such a cliffy… :) My newest creation is an “On Stranger Tides” remix, with Elizabeth inserted into the plot. Feel free to check it out. Hope everyone has a great weekend!

 

 

 

Again he swept her up into his arms, carrying her back to the bed as though she weighed no more than a feather. He lay her down, and she sighed with relief as seamlessly his body settled above hers, his delicious weight pressing her down into her down mattress. Her hands swept over his arms and chest, exploring, worshiping, _remembering_.

She knew this body so well, knew the map of his scars like a navigator knows a chart, and yet somehow this seemed all so _new_.

Several times she forgot herself, opening her mouth to cry out as Jack nibbled and kissed her flesh, his lips seeking the tender skin of her neck and what lay hidden by the bodice of her night-rail. He hushed her with fingers pressed to her plump lips, and would forget to be quiet himself when she sucked upon the tips of his fingers hungrily.

“ _Lizzy,”_ he growled, taking her nipple between his teeth through the thin lawn of her night-rail. She could feel his arousal for her grinding against her hip, hard as ship’s oak, yet she knew it was an organ sheathed in the softest velvet. She wanted him in her hands, _in her body,_ so much that she could think of nothing else. Her long fingers moved to unlace his breeches, pulling desperately at the knot. A cry of frustration escaped her as he moved out of her reach, travelling further down.

When he paid her a wicked smile, a flash of gold and eyes that burned with a fire that could consume the world—she knew he’d done it on purpose. He was teasing her, and she hated and loved him for it. “ _Pirate,”_ she sighed, relinquishing herself to him again as he drew her night-rail up her thighs, the whispering soft fabric against her sensitive flesh a torturous pleasure.

“Guilty, luv.” With a low growl from deep in his chest Jack rubbed his cheek against her inner thigh, grazing her with a day’s worth of stubble. She relished the texture of him, loving his rough edges far more than the gentleman’s façade he wore for the benefit of Port Royal.

_My pirate._

She didn’t dare say it aloud. The world—this truce between them—was far too tenuous.

Without further preamble he kissed her _there_ , in that place from which all this howling insanity seemed to originate. Taut as a bow her spine curled beneath him, his name a ragged sigh on her lips. Dizzy with desire, maddened by his touch, her long fingers fisted in the thick black mane of his hair. Without mercy he explored her with his mouth, tongue sweeping back and forth in a hard rhythm that left her boneless beneath him.

Just when she felt certain she would burst into a thousand tiny pieces, Jack retreated, coming to all fours above her. Trembling, her eyes unable to focus, she reached out for him. _“Please,”_ she begged.

 _Have mercy,_ her eyes pleaded. _Don’t make me wait any longer._

Jack had envisioned this moment more times than he could count. He knew he should draw it out longer. Tease her into a pliable putty with kisses and gentle caresses. A better man would have, he reckoned. But he had waited too long already. He knew her body like the back of his hand, and yet he did not know _enough._

It was Jack’s eternal curse, it seemed.

No treasure was ever _enough,_ and this one he hungered for the most of all _._

Wordlessly he divested her of her nightgown, his hands urgent yet somehow also gentle. Her fingers trembled as she attempted the buttons of his tunic, and it seemed his were no better. They shared a shaky laugh at themselves and a kiss so sweet it curled Elizabeth’s toes.

“Twas easier on the island, eh?” he whispered, referring to his habit of going about without a shirt.

Yet Elizabeth couldn’t help but gather a deeper meaning from his words. Despite the fact that they had been through hell on that island—sunbaked, starved, thirsty all the time—it had been a true paradise for them.

“I’ve never been happier than we were there,” she answered, meaning every word.

“Lizzy darlin’, do you remember we almost _died_ there?” he teased, even if in his heart he completely agreed.

“Yes. But first, we _lived._ ”

When at last Jack rendered himself bare Elizabeth pulled him to her, sighing with relief as she felt his bare skin against her own, the ridges of his male body perfectly suited to fill the soft curves of her own. How _easily_ they fit together, she marveled. It seemed as though nothing could have been so natural as _this_ ; he and she, together on a large soft bed in the moonlight.

Jack gathered her close, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his lips upon hers. He rocked against her, her legs opening in invitation of their own volition. She was so warm and wet, slick with desire; it made Jack dizzy to think it was all for him. He still could hardly understand _what_ this beautiful woman saw in a scallywag like him.

When slowly he entered her Elizabeth could not suppress a groan, muffled in the bend of his neck. He filled her body, but she felt him in her _soul_ , a complete melting of physical pleasure and emotional satisfaction. His fingers laced with hers above her head, his lips branded his mark upon her skin. Slowly he began to move, evoking the most exquisite pleasure, and yet it was not _enough._

“ _Take me,_ _Jack,”_ she whispered against the shell of his ear, teeth teasing the lobe ever so gently. “ _You can take me the way you’ve wanted to all along._ ”

The way he was too good of a man to take for himself, before.

Her long legs wrapped about his waist, pulling him deeper, and something snapped within the pirate, the tenuous threads of his self-control finally unravelling for all her charms. “ _Lizzy_ ,” he groaned raggedly, holding himself above her. Lovingly she ran her hands over the wiry muscles corded upon his arms and chest, the scars and tattoos, his life written in pain and ink upon his skin. “My sweet little siren. Do you know what you do to me?”

He began to move in a way that stole her breath away, his hips rolling deliciously against hers, further igniting her desire with every deliberate stroke. It quickly took her to heights she’d never dreamed imaginable, a sweet madness that left her unable to speak, unable to think past anything but Jack’s body moving against hers.

“I have wanted this since the day I pulled you from the harbor,” Jack went on. “The way you looked at me…” The memory caused him to close his eyes and drive inside her, the pleasure of her hot tight channel almost too much to stand. She’d looked upon him with curiosity and wonder, and not a trace of the uneasy fear he’d grown used to. It wore on a man’s soul to be constantly regarded as something that might bite without provocation, no better than an animal. With just one look she had shown him such mercy, a balm for his soul, the likes of which he hadn’t even known he craved.

Jack gathered her in his arms, moving them closer to the headboard. He gripped the carved wood in his strong hands, so hard it creaked as steadily he pushed Elizabeth closer and closer to her peak. “I’ve wanted to be with you since I was just a girl,” she confessed between kisses.

Jack laughed a little, his eyebrows raised with suggestion and mischief. “Indeed? Precocious lil’ thing that ye were.”

She smacked his shoulder, laughing, breathlessly basking in their joy. “Not like _this,_ ” she amended, cupping Jack’s cheeks in her hands. “But still, I _wanted_ you. I’ve always found you wonderful, Jack.”

“Oh love. Fool that you be…” he warned her, rolling so that she now sat atop him. And yet the way he looked up at her did not speak of a man invested in caution, his eyes glittering like rogue stars in an endless night.

“Don’t say that,” she scolded, lifting herself upon him and sliding back down in a way that caused his eyes to flutter closed.

“Yes, mum,” he acquiesced, that shapely mouth curling in an insouciant smile. Hungrily Elizabeth watched him below her, drinking in this sight so that she may sear it upon her mind forever. He was so beautiful she could hardly _stand it_ , and she could not shake the feeling that this happiness was some forbidden twist of fate. That at any moment the powers would seek to snatch it from them.

Elizabeth watched as Jack licked the pad of his thumb, and stroked the nub of flesh between her legs, sending a bolt of pleasure through her core. “Time to come for me, luv. Because you are too bloody beautiful and I can’t hold out much longer.” In tandem they moved, Elizabeth holding Jack’s other hand upon her breast, gripping him desperately as she spiraled towards release.

He could feel her heart racing beneath his palm, a pounding that matched his own. It wasn’t long before her body clenched upon him in that ultimate pleasure, his name a ragged sigh upon her lips that she barely managed not to scream out. Jack followed close behind, coaxed by the fierce spasms of her channel, spilling inside her body in a blinding rush of warmth.

She collapsed upon him, a ragged but happy sigh upon her lips. Jack wrapped his arms around her, and they lay like they were dead for what felt like an age.

“M’sorry, luv,” he finally sighed, sliding out of her. “Didn’t mean to be careless.”

He’d forgotten everything in that moment but the sublime bliss of being inside her.

“It’s fine,” she assured him. She could drink her potion in the morning, the way she always did after every rendezvous with Norrington.

Or maybe she wouldn’t, she thought to herself in a crazy moment, biting her lip. Just maybe she would keep a piece of Jack all to herself. A fey child with golden locks and shining midnight eyes, a love that could not sail away from her.

As though he read her thoughts all too well, Jack fixed her with a gimlet stare. “Darlin’ don’t do anything rash. A babe would be a burden I don’t think ye can rightly fathom.”

“I know,” she sighed, closing her eyes. She rested her cheek upon his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. “I don’t want a baby right now,” she assured him. She wanted to have adventures, not play nursemaid. “But if I were to ever have one, Jack, I would want it to be yours.”

Thoughts of fatherhood were always something he’d punctuated with a cold sweat, but now he felt an undefinable ache for her words, just above his heart.

What had this woman _done_ to him?

Clearly, he was losing his mind.

Jack exhaled a deep sigh, his fingers sliding through the golden mass of Elizabeth’s hair, his hand cupping her head to his chest.

“Well…thank you kindly, luv. That is _perfectly_ terrifying.”

But he said it in such a glib way that made her laugh. Satiated and filled with a floating joy, Elizabeth snuggled into the bend of Jack’s neck, and the pair dozed.

They woke before dawn to make love once more, this time so tenderly that Elizabeth thought her heart might explode for all the adoration in it. And yet he did not say the words, and neither did she, afraid to break the gossamer spell that had fallen upon them that evening. She dared not speak of the future, his plots, or his intentions towards her.

For one night, just one _blessed_ night, she just wanted to enjoy him without a care for tomorrow.

 


	22. Justice or Revenge?

 

Jack made his way to the fort with a veritable skip in his step, a green apple clasped in one hand. He’d been nigh _unbearably_ cheerful, winning odd looks from his men on the Pearl as he hummed under his breath to himself while inspecting the additional gun ports he’d ordered cut, a silly smile upon his lips anytime he happened to look off into the distance, which was often.

They thought that perhaps it was the thought of finding more treasure that had their captain in such a high mood. Rumor was that Captain Sparrow had another lead.

Never could they have guessed the real cause was a treasure he’d already found.

Thoughts of Elizabeth followed him through his day, rising at every minute of the hour. Her sweet kisses, his name on her lips, and that ridiculously enticing expression she made while he… _oh._

_I’ve always found you wonderful, Jack._

Recollecting her words left him grinning like an idiot.

Lord help her. Lord help them _both._

He should just take the girl and go, he knew.

That would have been the shrewd thing to do.

The _safe_ thing.

The wise action.

But the pirate-turned-privateer had an old score to settle with a certain former first mate of his, and after a decade of dreaming it Jack just couldn’t _stop_ himself from seeing it through.

He would have his justice, he reasoned, and _then_ make off with the girl. It would all turn out in the end.

 _Justice, or revenge?_ he chided himself. Maybe there wasn’t such a great difference. But what did it matter? What could possibly go wrong?

He should have known better than to tempt the gods with such a foolish question, but at that moment Jack was unflappable.

The guards let him through without a fuss, hardly even seeing him now for his respectable clothes. He was granted an audience with Hector Barbossa, who lounged with a sour look behind iron bars.

“ ‘Ello, Hector. Fine day to be incarcerated, is it not?”

“What do you want, Sparrow?” snarled Barbossa, most unpleased to see Jack on the _other_ side of these bars, and taunting him with a fresh apple no less.

Noticing Hector eyeing the apple, Jack took a large crunchy bite, relishing the fruit with gusto. Speaking sloppily as he chewed, Jack imparted, “What could I possibly want for?” Pieces of apple flew at Hector, and the pirate flicked away a fleck from his cheek with an annoyed glare. “I just came to thank you for leaving all that beautiful _un-cursed_ treasure laying about at the Isle de Muerte. I’m going to enjoy spending it for you. _Furthermore,_ that frightful chest in the center should be relocated, methinks. Not safe there, just sitting out in the open…just _anyone_ could come along and help himself, and then how will you ever break this nasty lil’ curse o’ yours? Skeleton hands…ew!”

Barbossa’s face reddened with every infuriating word Jack spouted, which was a good trick for a dead man.

With an infuriatingly smug smile, Jack tossed what was left of the apple to his former first mate, and turned on his heel to go.

A bellow of “Sparrow!!!” followed him down the stone halls, but Jack did not look back, the skip renewed in his step.

All he had to do now was sit back and watch the pieces fall into place.


	23. Mad for Treasure

# Chapter 23: Mad for Treasure

 

_Love is just a history that they may prove  
And when you're gone I'll tell them my religion's you. _

_–Bloody Mary_

Elizabeth had always found balls tedious, but this one tried her patience even worse than usual. Everyone who was anyone in Port Royal was present. Norrington had pestered her for what felt like an unbearable hour, leading her around the room, certain to say hello to all the right people. Every time the words _my fiancée_ in reference to her left his lips Elizabeth cringed inside. It was a relief when finally he excused himself for male company across the room.

Her corset pinched, hair pins dug into her scalp, and the whole affair just seemed _sordid._ Gatting about free in her chemise had ruined her for proper lady’s clothing—and polite society—forever, she reckoned.

It was the birthday of Lady Berkshire-Thompson, the widow of the late Lord Thompson, and a very merry widow she seemed. She was all too pleased to spend her late husband’s money on a sumptuous to-do, but what irked Elizabeth most was the excessive attention the woman paid to Captain Jack Sparrow.

Worse yet, Jack seemed to just _eat it up_ across the room, his black eyes flashing as animatedly he recounted a story. True or not, the lady sat transfixed by the tale, laughing loudly, fluttering her fan as her considerable décolletage heaved.

A month had passed since Elizabeth and Jack’s first intimate rendezvous in her room. Twice more he’d slipped past the night watch to visit her, and their lovemaking somehow only continued to improve in its ardor, a feat of which Elizabeth would not have thought possible after their scalding first union.

And then the sun would rise, and they would go back to pretending they hardly even knew each other.

It was killing her inside.

To make matters worse, it had been necessary to visit Norrington again. Jack had hinted she should tell the Commodore to go to the devil, but as of yet Elizabeth dared not. Jack was up to _something,_ but refused to tell her _what._ She now knew that dangerous glint in James’ eyes, and without knowledge of Jack’s plans for the future she feared tempting fate again. James had been _exceptionally_ irritable as of late, and despite her attempts to gather information, all he would tell her was that work had become stressful.

Which meant he used her body with even less skill than usual. In a way she was grateful for it. She could go somewhere else when all she was require to do was lay back and count the cracks in the ceiling, though it didn’t make her feel like any less of a whore afterwards.

She sipped her sherry, wishing dearly that something stronger filled her glass.

Forlornly she cast her eyes in the direction of the widow again, only to find the annoying woman and Jack had both disappeared.

Her heart dropped to her feet, the room suddenly spinning.

She marveled at her own naivety. How could she be so surprised?

She was to marry Norrington. Why wouldn’t Jack have his own affairs? Did she really think that she would be _enough_ for a man like him?

Bile rose in the back of her throat, and Elizabeth could stand it no more. She fled the party, seeking the solitude of the garden. Quickly she made her way through the maze of plantings, grateful for the cool night air. A gentle salt-tinge breeze caressed her cheek, like the sea herself offered a comforting caress. Elizabeth found a stone bench draped in moonlight, and gratefully she sank down.

She wanted to cry, but something inside her would not allow it. Something hard and unforgiving as the stone she sat upon kept her tears at bay. She supposed this was the lesson so many women in English society had learned before her. You cannot live in this world and keep your sanity _and_ your heart. You cannot tell the truth, _ever,_ or you will be eaten alive.

What she really wanted to do was _leave._ With Jack. They could just board the Pearl and _go._

She took a shuddering deep breath, inhaling the scent of the sea and night-blooming flowers. Somewhere a bird called, a mournful keen that Elizabeth felt in her soul. Slowly she calmed, and only then a single tear escaped her iron control, slipping down the curve of her cheek.

“Lizzy?”

Elizabeth started, finding Jack standing not a meter away, appearing a dashing rogue in a black tunic with gold piping and a crimson sash around his trim waist. He rejected the fashion of heels with gaudy buckles, favoring polished black leather boots. The effect was devastating, and she suspected he knew it.

“Hello, Jack.”

“Saw you vacate the premises like yer skirts were on fire. Are ye alright?”

She couldn’t help but notice that alone with her, Jack let his true manner of speaking return. It was a small detail, but one she was grateful for.

“I’m surprised you noticed anything, for the attentions the Widow Thompson paid you,” she said sourly, looking away.

But out the corner of her eye she saw Jack make a little face, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Ah, you mean Norrington’s agent?”

Elizabeth raised one dark brow, curious of his meaning. “What does James have to do with any of this?”

Jack fell down onto the bench beside her, his hand finding hers of its own volition. “Your fiancé is mad for treasure. Haven’t ye noticed?”

“What treasure?”

Jack smiled then, wide enough to flash his gold tooth, something he was reluctant to do in polite company. “What treasure, _indeed_ , luv.”

This remark was meant to whet Elizabeth’s curiosity, but instead she sighed heavily, clearly not so enchanted by the idea. “What are you up to, Jack?”

The pirate pressed his lips, considering if he could tell her. In the end he decided against it, for her own good as much as his own ends.

“It will all be over soon.”

“Will it?” She sounded miles away, and Jack frowned, turning her face back to his with a finger curled beneath her chin.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you? I’ll never see you again.” The latter sentence came thickly, the back of her throat suddenly tight.

“Lizzy…” He attempted to kiss her, but suddenly she jerked away from his touch.

“ _Lies._ All these lies. Whispers, deals made with a wink and a nod. I’m _sick_ of it, Jack. Let me tell you something true _. One true thing_. I _love_ you. I love you and I can’t…”

Suddenly she sprang from the bench, unable to abide sitting still, so frustrated she could have screamed. But Jack did not let her get far, a strong arm looping round her small waist, pulling her firmly against the front of his wiry form. They stood like that for what seemed a very long time, the warm line of their bodies fighting the chill of the night.

Elizabeth turned to nestle her cheek against his, savoring the roughness of his beard upon her tender skin. “I can’t do this anymore, Jack.”

His voice came harder than he meant for it to when he answered, “I told ye it was not necessary to visit the good Commodore anymore. The thought of his hands on you makes me want t’introduce his belly to a load of lead.”

“You _hinted_ and told me _nothing_ more,” she hissed with venom. “And in case you _aren’t_ aware, James would still very much like to see you swing at Gallow’s Point.”

“A wish that shall go unfulfilled, I assure you.”

“ _Why_ are you so sure? And if you say _cause I’m Captain Jack Sparrow_ I will throttle you with my bare hands!”

Jack placed a cautionary finger over her lips, wary of drawing attention to their meeting place in the shadowy garden, trying not to smile. Elizabeth had been sweet as honey on the island, but Jack was learning she could also be fiery as an erupting volcano. Some men would have shied from the challenge, but Jack found he loved her even more for it. He could see that he needed to tell Elizabeth something more. She was frighteningly astute and not to be contented with a simple _because I said so._ He loved that about her too, yet he feared giving much of his game away _just yet._

“I will be leavin’ for a little while. And when I return we will be rich as kings and free as the birds, eh? Trust me.”

“And which side of the law will you be on?”

“The proper side for a rogue like me, that is to say, the _wrong_ side, though balance will have been restored in a way the law always seems to fall short of.”

And all she’d gone through will have been for naught? Everything she traded for his pardon and Letters?

Annoyed, Elizabeth huffed, turning away from another attempted conciliatory lock of lips. Suddenly annoyed, Jack would have none of it, turning her in his arms, and slanting his mouth over hers in a kiss that was filled with possessive passion. It left her breathless and infuriatingly pliable in his arms.

“You like this life, then?” he challenged, an edge surfacing in his voice. “We are _slaves_ here, Lizzy. I to the Crown and you to the bloody Commodore. This is not living. Not when you’ve tasted _true_ freedom, _out there_.” Excitedly he waved towards the sea, which shimmered beneath the moon like a blanket of diamonds. “Don’t ye hear her call?”

She did. She _always_ had, and Elizabeth quivered inside with the thought that maybe Jack was right. Could they take their freedom? Have everything they ever wanted? Was one _allowed_ to do such a thing in this life?

She must have murmured the last thought aloud, and Jack answered, cupping her face gingerly in his roughened hands, “Ye can, luv. You just have to have the courage to reach out and take it. S’not an easy life. I won’t lie and tell ye that. But _this_ , here? An endless parade of parties and tea and simpering with the society hens, who I happen to know you don’t even like, over nonsense day in and day out. And _James_ , that stupid blighter, parading you about like a fine brood mare he’d just purchased at auction…” Jack made a face as though he would be violently sick. “You’ll have a big storybook wedding and that ridiculous house on the hill. There will be dinners in which you and your husband regard each other as strangers, saying barely a word to each other, and baby after baby, and if one of them doesn’t manage to _kill_ you someday you’ll look back on it all, an old woman at the window, wondering _where did it all go?_ Is that what you want?”

Elizabeth too felt as though she might be sick, and her self-pity turned to white hot anger in a flash. “NO!” she protested, pounding his chest with her fist. The pirate grunted, that freshly healed wound aching with the impact. “Somehow you are the most brilliant and the _daftest_ man I have ever met! What I want is _you,_ Jack! I don’t care about silks and servants and balls and tea. I don’t need treasure. I don’t even need revenge! I would be content to live as a marooner on some deserted isle with nothing but the shirt on my back, so long as _you_ were there with me. Don’t you understand that by now?”

Furious, she attempted to extricate herself from his grasp. But Jack was stronger, and he pulled her close, a hand on her head forcing her to calm against his chest. The hurricane swelled within her, and eventually receded, until she was left exhausted and clinging to Jack like the last piece of flotsam left in a stormy sea.

Jack had a feeling that somehow they were having an argument from the same side.

“You have me, luv,” he whispered into her hair. “I won’t leave you here, there’s just something I have to do first. So tell the Commodore he can go to the Devil. He’s got nothing on us anymore.”

A shuddering sigh escaped Elizabeth, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she nodded against Jack’s chest. Gingerly he wiped the errant moisture away, kissing her cheeks tenderly.

“Lizzy darlin’, did I hear you say you _love_ me?” he pried with a smug little smile.

She would have slapped it off him, had her fingers not been so preoccupied with fistfuls of his silky black hair. “I might reconsider it now,” she replied haughtily, but he detected the playful note in her tone. “Unless you were to offer some reciprocation to ease my mind…”

Jack smiled into her hair, amused by her blatant toss of her line. Well, he could nibble at the bait, even if just a little.

“In the course of my long and strange life, everything I have ever truly loved has been wrenched from me, one way or the other. Ergo I feel I would be remiss to admit that you are indeed one of those things, because it would smack of tempting the fates to take you away from me. Savvy?”

Elizabeth drew back to regard him, eyes narrowed, unable to suppress a cat-like smile.

He loved her.

_He loved her._

In complete contrast to just _moments_ before, Elizabeth suddenly felt as though she could endure anything life threw at her, if it meant she would have her pirate in the end.

“Savvy,” she quietly replied, and kissed him again. This kiss was slow and gentle, but succeeded no less in melting her heart utterly and completely. Jack held her at the waist, strong fingers digging into her sides. He left her breathless, and between him and the corset she reckoned she really might faint.

“Jack, is that your _pistol_ digging into my hip?” she teased, rubbing against him with an undulating motion.

The pirate made a sound low in his throat, something between a hiss and a growl.

“Saucy wench,” he grumbled through a smile, his lips trailing a line down her long neck. Jack couldn’t help but approve of the current fashion of women’s clothing, admiring the amount of skin her wide neckline left bare. With kisses upon her collar and a nip of her exposed shoulder he expressed his appreciation, winning a sigh of longing from his lover.

“Have I mentioned yet how utterly ravishing you look in this dress?”

Elizabeth huffed, which soon shifted to a sigh as Jack’s tongue dipped inside her neckline, teasing her breast. It was a midnight blue silk gown trimmed with lavender, and though she had liked it very much at the beginning of the evening, suddenly Elizabeth resented this dress greatly, and any other clothing between she and Jack. “This old thing? I rather hate it.”

“Tis a shame, because it loves you,” said Jack through a chuckle. He straightened, paying a considering look to her, and the stone bench behind them. “Come here, Lizzy girl.” She allowed him to pull her to the bench, knowing she would follow him anywhere, even to hell itself.

Jack straddled the bench, and with loving hands helped Lizzy do the same, a considerable feat considering the volume and layers of her skirts. The marble was startlingly cool upon her bottom, yet soothing to the unbearable heat she carried beneath her petticoats when Jack was near. She watched with fascination as Jack began to tame the front of her dress, folding it neatly as a sail, until her creamy thighs were bared to the night air. “Ah, that’s better,” said the pirate with a pleased curl of lips, placing her long legs over his.

Elizabeth’s fingers went to the lacings of Jack’s breeches, deftly undoing the ties, freeing him to the night air. His velvet-encased member was startlingly warm to the touch, and she purred with anticipation, feeling herself moisten and tighten in response. It took so _little_ with Jack, nary a look to render her wet and wanting. She wondered if it would always be this way. If she would _ever_ truly get her fill of him. Somehow, she doubted it, and the thought made her giddy inside.

Jack stroked her sex with his thumb, marveling at the slick moisture already pooling in abundance for him. _Christ, was this exquisite creature real?_ Unable to wait, Jack lifted her to him, driving himself home in one smooth motion. Elizabeth’s body arched taut as a bow, sighing sharply with pleasure. Once sheathed inside Jack allowed her to sit back once more, fascinated by the sight of his body joined with hers.

Briefly Elizabeth considered what a scene they made, and how impossible it would be to extricate themselves quickly if someone were to happen upon them. Yet at the moment she could not bring herself to care. _Let them see,_ she challenged the world. Let them know that she, Elizabeth Swann, loved a pirate _and_ a good man.

Slowly he began to move, steady and sure as the rhythm of the ocean, his strong hands upon her thighs and between her folds guiding her pleasure. Leaning back on her arms, Elizabeth savored this leisurely building of passion between them, wrapping her long legs about his waist so that she could pull him deeper, until release crashed over them both like the breaking of a wave. Struggling to be quiet, the lovers clung to each other for several long moments, locked in place, unable or unwilling to move.

A light laugh escaped Elizabeth, a gentle sound filled with joy. She kissed Jack’s temple, her lips lingering upon his skin. “Someday, I swear I will manage to make love to you in a place where your prowess can receive the proper volume of lauding it deserves.”

With a low chuckle Jack kissed the hollow of her throat. “Soon enough, luv. In the captain’s cabin of the Pearl we shall be able to do and say anything we wish.”

“You promise?”

Languidly Jack pulled back to regard her, that rogue smile she so loved curling his lips. He took her delicate hand in his, and she watched with wordless excitement as he slipped that golden skull ring from his pinky once more, sliding it upon her own finger. “ _Promise,_ ” he assured her, and Elizabeth’s heart made an attempt to lift out of her chest with happiness.

“Oh, so _now_ I may wear it freely?”

“Perhaps don’t flash it around _just yet_ ,” he cautioned, dark eyes shining with amusement.

She regarded the bauble appraisingly, wiggling her finger so the diamonds winked in the moonlight. Then shrewdly she turned it so that the skull faced her palm, hidden from prying eyes.

“That’s a good lass.”

With a sigh, Elizabeth looked down at their joined bodies. “I fear if I move there shall be quite a mess all over your handsome new trousers.”

With a magician’s flourish Jack produced a silk kerchief from inside his sleeve. “Knew this bloody thing would come in handy _someday_.” Elizabeth sighed as he slid the fine fabric between them, wiping their bodies clean. After finishing he regarded the thing dubiously, reluctant to put it back in his pocket. Elizabeth chuckled, amused, fascinated by his every motion, even something so menial as this. What a _fool_ love made of her! Happily, she would go skipping all the way.

They decided that she should return to the party first, and on shaky limbs Elizabeth stood, righting her gown and hair best she could. “When are you leaving?” she asked sadly.

“With the morning tide.”

Her eyebrows raised, not expecting his departure so soon. “I see.” She stooped to kiss him one last time, a tender and lingering lock of lips that bespoke the depth of their love. “Be careful, Jack.”

“Aye, much as I’m able.”

She almost gushed once more those three small but so powerful words, but then thought better of it, now wary herself of Jack’s warning about tempting fate. And so she smiled bravely, and made to go.

“Oh, and Lizzy?”

She paused, peeking back around a robust hibiscus bush to regard him.

“There might be a ruckus at the fort in a few days. An explosion, perhaps. Gunfire. Hard to say. It will mean Barbossa and his band of merry skeletons are at large once more. Promise me ye’ll hide until they’ve gone, eh? No heroics?”

Frowning, _rabid_ with curiosity for the details of his plan, but knowing he would not tell her, she nodded. “Very well.”

Surprisingly Jack sighed with relief, clearly having expected more of a fight. He nodded. “Thank you, luv. See you soon.”

“Fair winds, Jack.”

She blew him a kiss, and disappeared around the hedge with a swish of midnight blue skirts.

 

***

 

“I got it!” exclaimed the widow Thompson, entering her late husband’s study in a flurry, giggling happily. Norrington awaited her by the hearth, and lifted a finger to his lips to signal some discretion. However, the merry widow had consumed far too much Champaign for that, and besides she was too high on her clandestine victory.

She clasped the octagonal box in her small hand, regarding it curiously. It appeared to be some sort of compass perhaps, but the needle only spun in circles. Very odd. But that Jack Sparrow _was_ odd, so perhaps it was only fitting he possessed a compass that didn’t work?

“What _is_ it?” she asked, ravenous to know what could be so important that the Commodore would employ her in the scheme. She’d always had a soft spot for the usually stalwart navy man, who had been a friend of her late husband, and she hoped James’ impending nuptials would not keep him from sharing an evening or two in her company someday. Now that her husband was gone, that stuffy putz, she intended to wring every last bit of enjoyment out of life she could.

A tryst with the handsome rogue Captain Jack Sparrow hadn’t been a bad start.

Too bad, that all she managed was a kiss in a darkened alcove, before he stole away with a promise to find her later.

She truly hoped he would, though before he realized this piece of his property had been relieved of his person by her.

“Good work, Theodora. I thank you on behalf of the Crown. I assure you that you have done your King an invaluable service.”

“ _The Crown_?” she squealed excitedly. “James, you _must_ tell me what is afoot!”

The Commodore flashed a rare smile, his green eyes coming to life. _He should smile more often_ , she thought to herself wistfully. He was too young to have a worry line upon his brow and furrows at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps someday, my lady. I thank you again, and trust you realize your discretion in this matter is tantamount.”

“Of course!” Even as she agreed it, she _burned_ to tell her friends at tea at next opportunity.

He kissed her hand, and quit the room. _Such a dashing figure he cuts,_ she admired as she watched his exit. _I hope that Elizabeth appreciates what she has. If not, I’ll be more than happy to pick up the slack._

Norrington re-entered the ballroom, most pleased with himself and the recent developments. Everything was going to plan. He’d had a _most_ interesting meeting of the minds with Henry Morgan, and of all people, Hector Barbossa, a few days ago. There was a great deal of treasure to be had from the Isle de Muerte, and now that they had Jack’s compass there was nothing to keep them from collecting it. He would pay off his debts, and _still_ be fabulously wealthy. He and Elizabeth would never have another worry in the world.

Well, perhaps after he managed to hang Jack that would be true...

All in good time.

He hadn’t been _this_ happy since he’d convinced Elizabeth to marry him.

 _Convinced._ Well, it was a relative word, he supposed. But soon it would be over and done with. She would belong to him, and it wouldn’t matter one whit how he’d managed to get her to the deuced altar.

Immediately his eyes sought her out, and he found her at the far side of the room. She looked flushed, and he wondered if she’d been dancing? Jealousy spiked immediately in his breast as he wondered _with whom?_ And yet not even _that_ could dampen his mood. What could she possibly have done with another man besides twirl in aimless circles, amidst a crowd like this?

If only he knew.

“Elizabeth, such a healthy flush becomes you,” he whispered in her ear, giving her a start.

“Christ’s blood, James!” she hissed, pressing a palm to her bosom. “You frightened me!” Was it just him, or was a bit more décolletage showing than had been earlier that evening?

“Such language!” he scolded. Ever since her return from her sojourn with pirates she would say the _damndest_ things in polite company. He hoped it was a habit she would break soon. Someday it might cause an _incident._

 _Sod off_ was her next thought, but she bit her tongue.

Keeping his voice low, James intimated, “I should like it very much if you would visit me later tonight.” It was worded as a request, but he meant it as an order. So long as Sparrow still wished to reside as a free man in Port Royal, she would do as he pleased, James reckoned.

“I’m sure you would,” Elizabeth drawled, seeming rather bored.

“I beg your pardon?” He sounded genuinely surprised, and Elizabeth suppressed a triumphant smile, just the corners of her shapely lips curling up.

“I won’t be coming tonight,” she expanded. _Not that she ever actually did, with James,_ she thought wryly. Her body still hummed with life from Jack’s embrace, and her bones _sang_ with anticipation for what the future held. There was apprehension, but mostly, anticipation. _Freedom on the horizon._ She believed in Jack. He would see this through.

“Need I remind you of our agreement?”

This time Elizabeth did allow herself a smug smile. “I have a _headache_.”

“Bollocks,” growled James.

“Language!” she teased, suddenly enjoying this too much.

“You’re cheeky tonight.”

“Tell me, my dear James. What do you think my father would say, if I were to tell him of this sordid little arrangement of ours?”

James visibly paled at the thought. “You _wouldn’t_. Need I remind you Jack’s freedom relies on your…good behavior?”

Elizabeth raised one dark brow, and James suddenly had the uneasy feeling that perhaps he’d underestimated this woman. “Does it?” She sounded so _certain,_ and immediately James straightened, looking about the room for that goddamned pirate. _Something_ was wrong.

“Where _is_ he?” demanded James, resisting the impulse to take her by the shoulders and shake.

“Do I look like his keeper? Ask the Widow Thompson, she was thrusting her décolletage in his direction last I saw.”

James sighed, leaning back against a pillar, and downed the rest of the sherry in his glass. Perhaps he was over-reacting. At any rate, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t wait until the morning to sort it all out. He’d drank a rather large amount, for him at any rate, and his earlier buzz was now descending into exhaustion. All he wanted now was to lay with Elizabeth, and go to sleep.

Perhaps a different tactic would work with his exceedingly difficult fiancée. Didn’t all women swoon when a man lauded their looks? “Elizabeth, my darling, I am simply overcome by your beauty. Won’t you please come to me tonight?” he tried asking sweetly, attempting to press a kiss to her fingers.

Elizabeth was too quick for him, plucking her hand from his grasp. “No, James. I think not.”

To his stupefaction, James watched as she sauntered away from him, seeking the company of her father. She looped her arm in his, leaning her head upon his shoulder. The older man was obviously surprised by this display of daughterly affection, but not displeased, his expression softening. Weatherby beamed down at his little girl, whispering something that made her laugh. Those two had a language all their own, having been on their own for so long.

Languid as a cat, Elizabeth turned that honeyed gaze back to James, and he read the message clearly in her eyes, as surely as if she’d slapped him with her glove and demanded satisfaction.

A _challenge_.

The balance of power had changed, and James didn’t understand why.

Suddenly, the Commodore felt quite unwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here we go…. :)  
> :: insert maniacal laughter here::  
> I hope you enjoyed that fat juicy chapter, and I’d love to hear it if you did!   
> A heartfelt thank you to everyone who does drop a review, I adore you!  
> I’m going out of town for a week. More to come when I return… Cheers, everyone!


	24. A Bonny Little Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A trip to the seaside does wonders for fueling the finishing of a POTC fanfic. :) I finished scrawling this out on the beach, and now just have to finish transcribing. The end of this story is near, which is always bittersweet. I have to thank everyone again for reading and reviewing, it is the most delightful gift to find in my inbox after a post! And, I apologize in advance for the shameless reference to RL Stevensen’s Treasure Island. Couldn’t resist, mates. :) Read on!

# Chapter 24: A Bonny Little Problem

****

Upon waking the next morning Elizabeth immediately went to her window. True to Jack’s word, her view of the crystal blue harbor lacked the presence of her favorite ship, that legendary dark lady of the water, the Black Pearl. Though she knew this marked the beginning of a new chapter in her life, still, she cried. So many things could go wrong upon the sea, no matter how well prepared a crew, no matter how witty a vessel’s captain.

Sometimes, it all just went to pot.

For the first time in a long time, she found herself praying to whatever deity may have been listening that Jack would have a safe journey, accomplish his ends, and return to her. That last part she wondered how he would manage, and she decided to put together a bag of things she would like to have should a quick escape out the window be made necessary.

Later that morning Norrington came to call upon her, and over the guise of the pleasantry of tea and biscuits he attempted to interrogate her as to Jack’s designs. But Elizabeth skillfully feigned ignorance, which actually wasn’t so much a feint, as she knew nothing of the details of Jack’s caper. She was sure this was the very reason he’d kept her in the dark, even if it vexed her to no end.

That night Elizabeth could not sleep. She sat up in bed and waited, her ears perked to all the sounds of night time in Port Royal. The palms clacked in the wind, the occasional thud of a coconut falling breaking their hushed whispers. Faintly she could hear the usual revelry in the pubs down by the wharf. It was not until very late that the sound she awaited woke the sleeping town.

There was a great explosion at Fort Charles, but Elizabeth did not panic, as did the rest of the sleeping coastal town. In time cries of “Jail break!” and “The pirates have escaped!” reached her window. Adrenaline up, Elizabeth wondered where she should hide. The closet didn’t really work out so well last time…

Then a thought occurred to her that chilled her blood, dampening her adventurous mood: if the pirates were free and escaping, they would surely wish to attempt to break the curse again. Which meant they would need Will’s blood once more. Will, the dear boy, her oldest friend who she’d hardly given a thought to, in all her torment and excitement over Jack’s return.

What a friend she made, she chided herself, ashamed.

She _had_ to warn him.

Without hesitation Elizabeth dressed in her boy’s costume, took up a sword William had made especially for her, and scrambled over her balcony into the shadows below.

When she came upon the smithy she found Will already locked in combat with two of Barbossa’s crew. It hardly seemed fair, and so she drew her blade and joined in the fray. “Elizabeth!” Will exclaimed, parrying a blow. “You shouldn’t be here!”

She paid her opponent a smile like a baring of teeth, levelling her sword upon him. “And leave you to all the fun?”

They managed to route the attackers and made to escape out the back door. Whence they found themselves on the business ends of four pistols, and Hector Barbossa grinning like a madman behind two of them. “What a catch lads! The whelp _and_ his fair maiden. That’s what I call insurance! Bring them both.”

Elizabeth’s lips puckered. “Par--”

“And if ye so much as _utter_ any word even faintly resembling _Parlay_ I will stow you in the bilge, naked.”

Elizabeth’s jaw clicked shut.

 

+++

 

From atop the mountain Jack had christened _the Spyglass_ in the time he’d spent upon this uninhabited island _,_ he observed the approach of two ships through his telescope, a triumphant smile curling his shapely lips. Two navy ships, it seemed, one following close behind the other. Undoubtedly one was “stolen” and captained by his nemesis Hector Barbossa. The other, by Commodore James Norrington, he reckoned, following Barbossa to the treasure under the guise of giving chase to the escaped pirates.

The natural harbor was empty, the Pearl stashed away in a cove on the other side of the island. His unsuspecting guests would believe they had the island all to themselves.

Cheerfully Jack watched as the Endeavor dropped anchor, and the launch boats were prepared. One by one they ferried the pirates to the white sand beach. “Come little flies,” he hummed to himself. “Come into my web.”

Near the top of this rocky peak Jack had positioned the cursed treasure in a clearing, as well as just enough of the un-cursed Isle de Muerte treasure to draw the attention of his special compass. It had been all too easy to hand the magical item off to that ridiculous madam, the widow Thompson, with her none the wiser. He made a face at the thought of her sloppy kisses, her hand fumbling clumsily in his pocket all the while. He was certain she’d handed the compass off to Norrington within the hour of possessing it.

The tryst that had followed in the garden that night had been _much_ more to his taste.

Jack hummed absently to himself, watching the scene unfold below. “ _And really bad eggs…da de dum da da…”_

As the last boat unloaded a scuffle drew his attention. Someone struggled on the beach with one of the pirates, protesting the proceedings with a piercing volume.

Jack’s blood turned to ice in his veins, his jovial mood quashed.

The captive appeared to kick the pirate, and his yelp of complaint echoed all the way up the mountain. The captive made a break for the trees on loping long legs, and might have made it too, had not another pirate caught up, dealing a heavy blow to the head that sent the escapee to crumple on the ground.

Jack leapt to his feet with a snarl, his fist clenched at his side, the spyglass creaking in the grip of his other hand. Several choice expletives dropped from his lips, causing his first mate nearby to raise both graying brows. “Problem, Captain?”

“Aye, a problem,” growled Jack. “A bonny little problem, in the form of a certain Governor’s daughter who doesn’t know how to bloody hide when I tell her to…” This did not appear to clear up anything for Gibbs, and so Jack simplified, “They have Elizabeth.”

Gibbs’ face fell, displeased by the thought of Miss Elizabeth mixed up in the thick of this. Again. It would certainly throw a tangle into their otherwise well-ordered rigging.

“What shall we do?”

Jack lifted the glass to his eye once more, watching as the pirates began to file into the jungle. The Dauntless was not far behind, and would drop anchor soon. His easy confidence shifted to a churning anxiety, his insides a jumble. “Signal the Pearl,” Jack instructed. “I have to think.”

Gibbs went off, grumbling about women being bad luck.

They weren’t bad luck, Jack reasoned. They just had an uncanny way of capturing a man’s heart, and then tossing it around unnecessarily.

 _He’d bloody told her to hide!_ And yet hiding from danger, he was realizing, with a hint of pride and two parts annoyance, was _not_ something Elizabeth Swann excelled at.

_+++_

Barbossa and his crew hacked through the jungle with their cutlasses, cursing the dense overgrowth. It was a bloody hot day, though none but Elizabeth and Will seemed to be sweating.

 _I am going to kill Jack for this_ thought Barbossa, even more cross than usual, consulting the compass. The bearing indicated that they should begin to scale the large and treacherous mountain that kept watch over the rest of the emerald-green island. Though Barbossa was a dead man who did not feel the heat or biting insects, he still did not fancy the exertion.

Not trusting Jack for an instant, he ordered that Elizabeth walk at the front of the line to discourage ambush or traps. Though Barbossa seemed to be ignorant of she and Jack’s special liaison, he knew his former captain well enough to count on Jack’s disinclination to blast through a woman, even to get to his enemies on the other side.

Always been too soft, was Jack. Damn near a good man, even, and there was no room for _that_ in this world. Barbossa knew the difference between compassion and weakness, but in their world they may as well have been the same thing.

After a long and arduous trip up the mountain, the troop of pirates finally reached a clearing, in the center of which sat the carved Aztec chest, half buried. Its lid sat slightly ajar, giving hint to the precious contents inside. The crew stared at the chest with obvious desire, yet also expecting some trickery afoot.

Despite Barbossa’s opinions of the man, no one believed that staking their claim from Captain Jack Sparrow could come _that_ easily.

A whistle came from above, drawing their attention to a rocky outcropping. Jack sat casually as Puck himself, surveying the gathering with a devil-may-care smile. “Now isn’t this heartwarming,” he quipped, flashing gold. “Nearly like old times, eh Hector?”

Barbossa, however, seemed less than amused.

“Whatever trickery yer up to Jack, I would advise ye cut it short.” He waved his hand, and the large African pirate brought Elizabeth forward.

“Ah. Indeed, that is the crux of our dealings now.” And a well-played stroke on Barbossa’s part, for originally Jack had simply planned to watch the pirates break their curse, then cut them all down. Simple. Neat. The best plans are, really.

Jack made his way down the steep rocky wall in his usual comical way, arms flailing and yet all feline grace in his ability to land on his feet. “This can be relatively easy. You want _this_.” He punctuated with a flourishing wave towards the chest. “And I want _her._ What say you to making a trade, eh?”

Barbossa said nothing, only leveled his pistol at Jack’s chest. “What’s to keep me from killing you and keeping it all?”

Though he felt certain there must be _something—_ for there always was, with Jack involved _—_ he found it still felt quite good to point a gun at Jack Sparrow.

Jack shrugged. “You _could_ do that, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Ye won’t leave the island alive.”

Barbossa looked about for snipers in the trees or up the mountain. He saw none, which didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t there. Though Jack had always been the bloody devil in the art of the bluff.

“They’re there,” Jack assured him in an uncharacteristically serious turn of voice. “You can’t see ‘em, but they see you _just_ fine. My best marksmen equipped with the finest French long rifles gold can buy. The minute you break your curse they will cut you down, unless I say nay. Commodore Norrington was right behind you, and by the way you scrambled up this mountain I’m guessing you don’t really intend to share this treasure with him an’ Morgan. Can’t say I care a whit one way or the other, but he’ll be on his way shortly. Time is of the essence.”

Hector sighed. He _very much_ wanted to shoot Jack just then.

“Then how do you propose we go about it?” he sighed with a massive roll of eyes.

“Send her and the whelp over. You head back down the mountain a ways, with this un-cursed shiny in tow. He’ll break the curse, and you’ll be rich free men.”

“And how do I know you’ll let him break the curse once you have everything in hand?”

“Out of all of us, I believe it’s _my_ word we’ll be trusting. And someday I do intend to kill ye, just not today. Can’t do that without rendering ye un-im-mortal, eh?”

Hector gave a hearty laugh to disguise his extreme annoyance. If they had more time he would have haggled more. But the fact that Jack admitted they would meet on the field of battle again someday, oddly, was the thing that made Hector trust his word. “Very well, Jack.” He waved for the girl and the whelp to join Jack, and gave Will back his father’s coin for the sacrifice.

Elizabeth appeared calm as she crossed the clearing to Jack, though her insides sang with excitement and fear alike. When she reached her pirate’s side she could not suppress a small smile, amusement shining in her amber eyes. Jack, however, appeared cross as he hooked a finger beneath her chin, examining the ugly bruise on the side of Elizabeth’s face.

A spark of anger flashed in his black eyes. “Who do I need to keel-haul for this, luv?” he murmured, and Elizabeth could not help herself from leaning into his touch.

“I’m fine now, Jack,” she assured him, her lips curling even more.

Even after her second taste of piracy on the high seas, she remained brave, Jack marveled. Most women would have been quite disenchanted the first round, much less the second, but this incredible woman met the danger head on, laughing all the while. How he _loved_ her. She terrified and infuriated him, but he was quickly realizing she was the only woman who would ever do for Captain Jack Sparrow.

A nearly inaudible sigh escaped him, and he could not stop himself from cupping her face in his roughened hand, drawing her lips to his.

 


	25. Flow with the Tao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hear all the Sparrabethers have moved to tumblr? I've just joined and am still figuring it out. Come find me as apirateslifeforme123
> 
> Here we go...

With a portion of his crew and the majority of his marines Commodore James Norrington watched the scene unfold in the clearing. They had scrambled to catch up to Barbossa’s crew, and sweat poured out of them in buckets. Despite their deal, Norrington trusted Barbossa not one whit. Now it seemed Barbossa intended to keep the treasure for himself, which was no surprise. Likewise, Norrington never intended to let Hector and his crew leave the island alive. There would be far more to go around, only split two ways between his crew and Henry Morgan. Some of it would need to go to the prize committee for appearances sake, but some could be kept under the table, he had no doubt. They would all be heroes for quashing the notorious buccaneers, and no one the wiser.

Never mind the fact that Barbossa had kidnapped his fiancee, _again._ Her reputation would take a right flogging, _again,_ when finally they returned, but hopefully it was nothing a little pomp couldn’t fix. They would marry first thing upon their return, he decided, and could put this whole business behind them once and for all.

James held up his arm, ready to signal his men to fire. Then Elizabeth crossed the clearing, the blacksmith trailing behind her like a sad puppy dog. Despite her second go-round with pirates she remained statuesque, holding her head high as a queen. The sight of her never failed to catch his breath in his throat, even now.

Despite it all, James truly did love Elizabeth.

To his horror, he watched as she and Jack seemed to exchange tender words, the pirate touching her face gently. He could not ignore the doe-eyed way she looked to him, her eyes positively _gleaming_ with admiration, and… _no_.

He couldn’t even _think_ it.

When that blackguard began to draw her into a kiss James saw _red._

His arm twitched with fury, which his all-too-nervous marines took for _the signal._

All hell broke loose.

 

* * *

 

Jack could not say what gave him warning. Some small signal won of hard experience—the cry of a bird, the snap of a twig. Whatever the culprit, he threw himself over Elizabeth as the crack of gunfire pierced the clearing, taking them both to the ground.

Elizabeth hardly knew what to make of it, it all happened so fast. Jack’s weight pressed her into the ground, and the cloud of smoke drifted over them, obscuring the clearing. She touched Jack’s back, and found a hot slickness covering her fingers. She drew back her hand to find it smeared crimson. “Oh God, Jack!”

With a groan he sat up on elbows, wincing. “Bloody hell. Undead or not, that’s still not fun.”

Bewildered, Elizabeth regarded him with wide eyes.

“Jack?”

“S’alright, luv.” With a conjurer’s dexterity he flicked his wrist, an Aztec coin appearing in his hand. “Couldn’t resist.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she laughed or cried in the next moment, burying her face in the bend of his neck. Jack allowed himself to enjoy it for only a beat, before taking stock of the mayhem unleashed around them, undead pirates fighting the redcoats, and winning by a landslide. Jack felt his wounds re-knit, the lead balls expelling from his body.

_Eww._

Time to even the playing field, he reckoned.

Jack smeared some of his blood upon the gold piece and tossed it back into the chest. “Oy, Will!” he barked, jerking his head towards the chest. With astonishment written upon the young blacksmith’s face, it took a moment for the whelp to take Jack’s meaning. But once it settled in he wasted no time in returning his own blood-stained piece to the chest.

“Come on, luv,” said Jack, hauling Elizabeth to her feet. “This is what I call the opportune moment to beat a hasty retreat.”

There was a bone-rattling BOOM that rocked the island like thunder. Elizabeth ducked, but Jack’s lips only spread in a gold-glinting grin. “That would be the Pearl, darlin’,” he explained, not pausing in their escape, her hand gripped firmly in his. “Hopefully taking the Dauntless and the Endeavor by surprise, and they won’t have the man-power to resist her persuasion.”

Quickly her mind followed along his trail of thought, and Jack’s infectious smile spread to her own lips. He’d done it again, and all the pieces seemed to be falling nicely into place.

_They would be free!_

The pair skirted the edge of the battle. Everywhere, now pirates and marines alike fell wounded and worse. Jack began to lead her down a trail between two boulders, when Norrington stepped into their path, leveling his sword upon Jack.

“That’s far enough, Sparrow.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, so tired of her life being interrupted by this man.

“Let us go, James.”

The Commodore paid her an incredulous look. “Go _where_ , Elizabeth? What kind of life do you think this scoundrel could possibly give you? He will use you and drop you at the next convenient port.”

Hot fire ignited in her breast. After the way James himself had _used_ her, it infuriated her to no end that he dared claim moral high ground. Indignantly she spat, “He gives me _everything._ Everything I want. Everything I _need._ We are _done,_ James. Now get _out_ of our way.”

James felt his heart shattering in his chest, and the hole inside filling with the blackest rage he’d ever known. “You made me a _promise_ , Elizabeth.”

“I made a _deal,_ which is slightly different,” she mused in a rather Jack-ish distinction of semantics.

“I cannot accept this!”

Jack rolled his eyes, finally stepping in. “Bloody hell, mate. Ye’ve lost. Now move.”

James made a threatening step towards Jack, which was met by the raising of one of the pirate’s pistols. Looking down the barrel of the flintlock, the Commodore reconsidered, calculation shining in his green eyes.

“She’s made her choice, Commodore,” said Jack quietly, knowing he should just pull the trigger and save them all some trouble.

Out the corner of her eye Elizabeth sensed movement. She turned to find one of Barbossa’s pirates charging them, cutlass raised high. “Jack!”

Without hesitation Jack fired to the side, dropping their attacker. James lost no time in pouncing, swiping at Jack with his razor-sharp sword. The pirate captain sidestepped with a movement that was so wobble-legged it was graceful.

The fray had found them, another pirate making war. As Jack engaged with Norrington, Elizabeth picked up a cutlass, and joined the melee.

 

* * *

 

 

“I should have hung you when I had the chance, Sparrow,” growled Norrington, swiping for Jack with his sword. The pirate parried the blow and side-stepped another, staying ahead of James’ blade by a hair’s breadth. The Commodore was actually a much better swordsman than Jack, a fact of which the pirate compensated for with fancy footwork and misdirection.

“Probably should have. Won’t be givin’ ye the chance again, mate, sorry.”

Norrington laughed bitterly. “Don’t worry. I intend to drive this blade straight through your heart.”

Jack made a face at the thought, though his comedic efforts were clearly unappreciated by the good Commodore. “And then what?” asked Jack, hoping to distract James. “Kill the rest of the pirates, gather up the gold, and haul the girl back to Port Royal in chains?”

“I don’t think the chains will be necessary.”

Jack hissed as James managed to just slip past a parry, slicing open his upper arm. A minor wound, but it stung like the devil. “Shows how little ye really know her then. Haven’t ye been paying attention?”

Fury came over James’ features again, and Jack noticed that it made his next barrage of attacks wild and a little sloppy. This was good. “ _You. Are. Not. The. Man. She. Needs_!” Every word was punctuated by a swipe or lunge.

“Probably so,” Jack went on, locked in the deadly dance of keeping ahead of James’ sword. There was an outcropping not far away, and slowly Jack began to work in that direction, hoping James to be too infuriated to notice his surroundings. “But I am the man she wants. And that, dear Commodore, is what truly matters out here in the real world. Not titles, tea parties, or who is who in the upper echelons of _le beau monde_. Out _here_ we are free, and if a man and a woman love each other…it’s enough. It’s more than enough.”

Jack grimaced a little. He’d not meant to make a mushy speech to the raging Commodore, but he supposed when one is engaged in a duel to the death over a woman a man can be excused for such things.

“No!” James launched himself at Jack, their swords crossing before them. Both men strained with all their strength to hold the other at bay. “I _will_ make her happy. Once you’re gone she will forget all about pirates, treasure islands, and this _ridiculous_ obsession with freedom. _No one_ is free in this life,” James snarled. “Everyone pays a price. Everyone loses a piece of themselves in this world, if they want to live well. _That_ is the truth, Sparrow, and you can take it to the Devil!”

He strained with all his strength against Jack, the pirate’s boots sliding a little upon the loose gravel.

Rather than continue to fight James with force, suddenly Jack shifted his weight to the side, adding his own little push to Norrington’s forward momentum. The Commodore went head over heels over the outcropping, a short surprised shout punctuated by a _thud_ below.

Jack peeked over the edge of the outcropping to see James sprawled a good fifteen feet below, a trickle of blood running down his temple. Unconscious or dead, Jack did not know.

“And that is called _flowing with the Tao,_ ” muttered Jack to no one in particular, turning back to the battle, his eyes immediately searching for Elizabeth. His blood ran cold when he found her fighting with Hector Barbossa himself, and quickly losing ground.

* * *

 

 

Elizabeth cut down one pirate, then two.

It did not bring her the pleasure she thought it might, though the excitement of the fray ran hot in her veins. She turned to find Hector Barbossa himself pointing his cutlass in her direction. It was a fight she knew she could not easily win, and Hector’s yellowed smile displayed in full as he watched the fear form upon her face.

“Having fun playing pirates, Miss Swann?”

“I’m not sure _fun_ is the word I would chose,” she cautiously answered, even if up to a second ago it was a bald faced lie.

Hector’s grin was borderline beatific, almost _proud,_ though Elizabeth still felt certain he was envisioning cutting her to ribbons.

Where was Jack?

With a glance she found he was still engaged with Norrington, cutlasses locked in a struggle for the upper hand. He was fighting for his own life, and hers. Well, if she wanted to live in this world, she couldn’t depend on Jack to win her every battle for her, she reckoned. Furthermore, she didn’t _want_ to.

Barbossa watched as the resolution to stand and fight settled in upon her. He smiled like a shark, all teeth but no warmth. He granted her a rather civilized _“En garde,”_ before launching at her. At first Elizabeth managed to hold her own in their bout. But as time went on the weight of the unfamiliar sword, much heavier than what she was used to, began to catch up to her. Barbossa saw her flagging, and showed no mercy.

She lunged too heavily for what looked like an opening in his guard, and only too late did she realize it was a trap. Hector knocked her sword from her hand, and tripped her to the ground. She found herself on her back, the pirate’s blade at her throat.

“Apologies, Miss Swann. It’s nothin’ personal, really. Ye fought bravely, but Jack’s side was just the wrong one to choose.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, and said a silent apology to Jack.

_I’m so sorry. I tried. I love you._

She waited for the painful bite of Barbossa’s blade.


	26. She's A Pirate Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Well, this is it. The last two chapters. So happy! So painful! Lol. I didn’t really mean for this fic to turn into a novel length journey. It started as a little daydream of Jack and Lizzy talking on the steps of the Pearl, the mar-i-age proposal, and Jack bullshitting about the Brethren code’s stance on offering a ring…and somehow it grew into this. I want to thank everyone who has come along for the ride! Particularly, the beautiful, amazing, Queen of Generous, Florencia7! Also, the esteemed h8terade (thought of you while writing the epilogue, dear ;), and too many more of you to name! Your comments make me float around on cloud 9 for the day, thank you!!! 
> 
> And…where my Tumblr sparrabethers at? I’ve started a j/e blog at apirateslifeforme123 D0T tumblr, where I’ve posted some pics of what I had in mind for the ring, as well as other sparrabeth flavored fun. Feel free to check it out.   
> Ok, I’ll shut up now. Enjoy!

# Chapter 26: She’s A Pirate Now

 

A gunshot exploded right behind Elizabeth, the crack of the pistol so loud that her ears rang, instantly rendering her deaf. Shocked, she looked up through the blue smoke to see Jack’s stalwart figure, a pistol in hand, the very pistol he’d been saving all this time for his treacherous first mate.

Barbossa lay on the ground, not moving.

“No dying today, eh love? Come on.” His voice drifted through the ringing in her head. Rings flashing in the sun, Jack pulled her to her feet. They ducked into the jungle again, hoping to escape down the mountain a different way. They followed another path through the rocks and dense vegetation. “If we reach the Pearl we’re home free,” said Jack, helping her over a boulder with hands on her waist.

They nearly walked right into another troop of red coats making their way up the mountain to investigate the shots, despite their orders to stay with the ship. Jack pulled Elizabeth off the path, bullets nipping at their heels.

“How do you feel about another long jump into the sea, Lizzy?”

“I can’t say I was conscious the first time I performed the act.”

They came to an outcropping of a cliff. The sea stretched out below them, a rolling blue blanket reaching as far as the eye could see, glittering with the promise of freedom. Elizabeth peeked over the edge of the cliff, a trill of fear and strange longing to jump rushing down her spine. The immense height made her dizzy.

“Would we survive it?”

It seemed higher than the battlements of Fort Charles. _Much_ higher.

“Aye, so long as we miss the rocks,” he answered honestly. He waited for her to balk, as any sane lass would. “Ye can still go back, luv. Tis not too late for you,” he offered in a hushed tone, as though afraid to say it too loud and tempt fate. But this would be their life together, he reckoned, more often than not. Always running between the rain drops, and defying death at every turn.

Someday, one of them might not be so lucky, he knew.

Despite all this, his heart soared as her luscious mouth curled in a wide smile, the thrill of the chase upon her. “There is no living for me, Jack, that is not with _you_. I would follow you anywhere. Over a cliff or to hell itself.”

“That’s what scares me,” he answered with a toothsome smile full of gold. Unable to resist, he pulled her into a hard fast kiss, his mouth almost punishing against hers. It tasted of adventure, of _him_ , and Elizabeth knew she would _never_ have her fill of her pirate Captain.

Hand in hand, they backed up to jump.

“Stop right there!”

They froze, looking over their shoulders to find they were surrounded by redcoats, muskets leveled at them. A bleeding Norrington limped up behind them, clutching his head. Attempting to salvage appearances, the Commodore spoke, “The game is up, Sparrow. You’re safe now, Elizabeth. Come here.”

Elizabeth and Jack paid each other a calculating glance, wondering if they could make the cliff’s edge faster than lead shot. Had he been by his onesies, Jack might have tried it. But with Elizabeth here…

Equally concerned, Elizabeth began to move in front of Jack, certain the soldiers would not shoot her. “Lizzy, don’t be a hero,” he growled under his breath.

“Play along, Jack,” she countered quietly. “It will be just like old times.”

Catching on quickly, Jack snaked an arm about her chest, long fingers of his other hand wrapped gently about her throat. Elizabeth could not suppress a shudder of delight, which was taken as fear by the oblivious soldiers. “Like that, do you? Saucy wench,” teased Jack quietly, earning a sharp nudge of her elbow. Louder, he barked menacingly, “Drop your guns, gents, or I’ll break her svelte little neck.”

The soldiers did so without even waiting for Norrington’s word, no one wanting to be responsible for the death of Governor Swann’s only daughter. It was a breach of discipline that annoyed the Commodore extremely, and he shot them all a dark look.

“Gentlemen, Commodore,” said Jack theatrically, pausing to doff his hat. “This is the day you will always remember as the day you _almost_ captured Captain Jack—”

“And Elizabeth—”

“Sparrow.”

Before anyone could react they sprinted for the cliff’s edge, hurling themselves into the abyss. For a brief moment it felt like they were flying, suspended in the air, nothing but the sky above and the deep blue sea below. For that moment it was as though time stood still as they looked to each other with delight, intoxicated by the adventure, eyes shining with excitement and adoration.

Down they plummeted, hitting the water hard, for from that height there was no avoiding it. Plunging under the cool waves was like a welcoming embrace from the sea, the water calling her children home. They surfaced, gasping and laughing with triumph.

Their mirth echoed tauntingly up the cliffs, and one of the soldiers lifted his musket to fire down upon them. “Don’t, you imbecile,” admonished Norrington, slapping down the musket’s barrel. “You could hit Elizabeth.”

With astonishment the redcoats watched as the pair began to swim towards the Black Pearl.

“But sir,” sputtered the marine. “She’s a _pirate_ now.”

That fact seemed clear as day to _all_ of them.

Norrington’s eyes glittered sharp as green shards of glass. “ _She_ is still Governor Swann’s daughter. Clearly she has just taken momentary leave of her senses. We _will_ bring her back.”

The marine kept his mouth shut from thereon out, though he and the rest of the company suspected it was the Commodore who had taken leave of _his_ senses.

The Black Pearl’s cannons had sunk the Dauntless completely, and only the spars and part of the forecastle of the Endeavor were visible above the waterline, the large ship resting on the sandy bottom. They were effectively marooned on this island, left with no way to make their way home.

Helpless, for their rifles truly had no accuracy at this range, the marines watched as the rest of Jack’s crew, including the blacksmith Will Turner, rowed back out to the Pearl. The specks in the water that were Elizabeth and Jack reached the Pearl, and were hauled aboard. The legendary ship turned towards the open water, her black sails full and proud against the turquoise blue of the sea.

Numbly, Norrington watched as the woman he loved, the one thing he’d truly wanted most in this life, sailed off towards the horizon.

 


	27. The End, Relatively Speaking

# Epilogue: The End, Relatively Speaking

 

“Come back to bed, luv,” called Jack, his voice thick with sleep and other things best left to a berth. “M’not usually a jealous man, but I can’t say I fancy sharing the coveted sight of my lovely new bride in the buff with _all_ of Tortuga.”

Elizabeth laughed lightly, turning an affectionate gaze upon her groom. She stood by the aft windows, naked except for his gift of the triple strand of black pearls about her swan’s neck.

A small midnight stop had been made in Port Royal, so that Elizabeth could gather a few precious things and leave a letter of apology and explanation for her father. With Jack’s permission, she’d left the heading for Treasure Island in her missive, so that Norrington and his remaining men would not be marooned indefinitely. It was more mercy than the Commodore had been willing to show Jack, but Elizabeth was finding that to be a common theme with her pirate captain. He was a power to be reckoned with, clever as a fox, fearsome when he had to be, but when given the choice Jack would always show compassion over cruelty. Some mistook this for weakness, but she loved him for this trait all the more.

Jack kept finding himself thinking he would never come across a sight more beautiful, than this brave woman by his side. He also kept thinking that he would wake up from this sweet dream at any moment. They had been married not but a few hours ago, in the only church on Tortuga. Elizabeth had worn a simple blue dress and a crown of plumeria blooms, her black pearls and her skull ring. Jack had scrounged a clean shirt, which for some reason seemed in short supply now that they had left the civilized world behind.

Elizabeth was fairly certain the parson had been inebriated throughout the whole ceremony, and possibly wasn’t even really a man of the cloth, but she didn’t care. She and Jack had made their vows to each other, smiling and laughing with joy through the whole thing—and that was all that really mattered.

With a bit of their newly won prize they had thrown a raucous party that spanned two taverns side by side, of which they had quickly abandoned for the great cabin of the Pearl, unable to wait any longer to partake of each other in their newly-wedded bliss.

Elizabeth’s eyes turned from the glittering blue harbor to cast about the cabin of the Pearl. It was filled with Jack’s books and charts, and other trappings that spoke of a man well-traveled and deeply in love with the sea. She could hardly believe this was to be her home now, and the legendary pirate Captain Jack Sparrow, her _husband_.

The legend in question lounged like a sleepy lion upon the bed— _their_ bed—his mane of dark hair hanging down around his shoulders. His body was a map of all he’d lived, adventures written in scars and ink. She found him the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and her sly smile said so when his gaze met hers.

This time when he held out his hand in invitation she joined him. She settled into his arms, her long body folding seamlessly with his. “What now, Jack? It’s hard to imagine the crew will put up with our honeymoon cruise for _too_ long,”

“A fair question.” His fingers slipped through her hair, causing her eyes to slide closed with pleasure. She’d almost forgotten she’d asked a question, when Jack finally answered, “The fact is, my Lizzy girl, that even after dividing the treasure from the Isle de Muerte, we are filthy fucking rich. We can do anything we want.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. The things wealth usually bought were all the things she’d run away from. It was adventure—and Jack—not necessarily in that order, that interested her now. “Then I suppose we had better bury this treasure somewhere remote,” she answered cheekily. “And make a map for it, of course.”

Jack chuckled, rather distracted as her fingertips traced the contours of his chest, explored his scars as though she could sense their stories in their shape, like a diviner reading tea leaves. “Said like a true buccaneer, luv,” he chuckled. His laughter shifted to a groan as her exploring fingers followed the trail of dark hair upon his belly, down to discover his quickly swelling manhood.

Greedily she grasped his velvety member, purring with appreciation as he hardened in her hand so soon after their first bout of love-making. A rather naughty word escaped him as she quickly straddled him, sliding down upon his length in one smooth motion.

“ _Pirate_ ,” he growled, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her motion upon him. “Pillaging without apology. I should have surrendered to you at the first sight of your colors.”

“Aye, Captain, you should have,” she agreed, bracing herself with a hand over his heart, moaning as his thumb found that perfect spot upon her center. “Now I have no choice but to grant you no quarter.” He swore again as she squeezed her womanly channel upon him, sliding up and down his cock with calculated speed, whetting his desire all the more. She made him feel like a randy young lad, ready to come with just a saucy look in his direction. _This_ —her body surrounding his, hot and tight, so very wet, and so very _his,_ now _, forever more_ —it was _too much._

With hands clasped they strove for the pinnacle of their release, passion taking them with all the fury of a hurricane. In the eye of the storm they reached their point of surrender, a mutual pleasure that rocked them like a tidal wave, rendered their bodies utterly pliable, happy and sated. Elizabeth collapsed upon his chest, his wiry arms wrapping about her.

They dozed, and with the sun upon the horizon Jack stroked Lizzy’s spine, winning a shudder of delight. Her hand on his chest, she regarded the rings upon her finger, the golden death’s head now complemented by a simple but elegant engraved golden band.

“Lizzy?”

“Jack?”

“Have ye ever heard of the Fountain of Youth?”

She laughed sleepily, snuggling closer. “Tis just a story, surely.”

“Well…legend has it that there is a special _map_. How would ye fancy a jaunt to Singapore?”

In the rich golden light of the setting sun the diamond eyes of her ring winked with promise.   
           

**The End.**

**Sort of.**

**That is to say, this is the end of this Adventure.**

**But surely the beginning of many _many_ others.**

**So this is The End, Relatively Speaking.**

**Savvy?**

 

 


End file.
